


The Prisoner

by AlElizabeth



Series: The Family [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Gen, Kidnapping, Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. When Sam was a little boy, he was kidnapped by demons. John has given up looking, believing his youngest son is dead. Dean, however, does not want to believe that his brother is gone forever. While on a hunt, Dean encounters a strange young man who may be his long-lost brother. Dean thinks that now he can have the family he always dreamed of. But there are enemies who have different plans for the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disappearing

Bowling Green, Kentucky- 1987

Dean picked up the TV remote and flipped through the stations- there was nothing on! He grumbled and peered at his little brother sleeping in the next bed. Dean sighed and lay down on his back on his own bed.

Dad had been gone for four days and after a call that very evening it seemed as if he was going to be on the job for at least another two.

Sam had started asking when Dad was coming back and Dean could only answer 'soon, Sammy, soon.'

Dean sat up and slid off the bed; it was unbelievably hot in the room- even with the air conditioner running at full blast. The boy pulled his damp shirt away from himself and wiped a forearm across his brow. He didn't know how his brother could sleep in such heat.

Dean wished he was with his Dad- he wanted to help him, but he knew he had to look after Sammy- that was Dean's job. If Dad had to hunt monsters than Dean had to take care of Sam.

Checking the clock on the wall, Dean saw it was only eight-thirty and groaned out loud.

"Dean?" he heard his little brother muttered in his sleep but didn't wake up.

The older boy opened one of the windows- against his father's instructions- and stuck his head out into the warm night air.

Dean panted, sweat running down his face. It was way too hot in this state, he complained silently.

Maybe next time Dad will take a job in Alaska; Dean hoped and peered around at the motel rooms beside and across from them.

Dang, I'm thirsty; Dean thought and recalled seeing a vending machine just around the corner the day Dad had dropped them off.

Dean peered at the white motel room door than at his sleeping brother and back again. He'd only be a minute, and really he wouldn't even be going very far. He was just so thirsty and tap water just wouldn't cut it. Dean grabbed the room key from where it sat on top of the card table in one corner of the room.

Dean checked the salt lines at the windows and pulled open the motel room door, "I'll be right back, Sammy."

Dean didn't notice that his sneakers scuffed the salt at the door, breaking the line as he closed it

He walked past the other rooms, his short hair beaded with sweat in the humid air, thinking only of the cold can of pop waiting for him.

Dean could have jumped with joy when he rounded the corner and saw the blue and red machine glowing in the dark night.

Digging some change from his pocket, the eight year-old pushed the coins into the slot and punched the button for Pepsi.

The can clattered down and Dean grabbed it up, pulled the tab and guzzled down half the contents in one go.

"Ahhhh," he leaned against the machine that vibrated slightly and watched a couple of moths flutter lazily around the light source.

Maybe I should get one for Sam; Dean thought as he sipped the rest of the drink more slowly, he'd probably like that.

Dean counted the coins from his pocket and smiled when he saw he had just enough. The boy finished his soda and tossed the can into the already overflowing waste bin beside the vending machine

The boy gave the last of his change to the machine and in response it spat out a can of root beer.

Dean whistled the beginning notes of 'Wind of Change' by the Scorpions as he strolled back to the motel room, feeling pretty good about himself and excited to see the look on his little brother's face when he presented him with the treat.

Dean opened the door and shoved the keys into the pocket of his jeans, "Hey Sammy, I got something for-"

The boy stopped mid-sentence. Sam wasn't in bed and the tiny bathroom was dark- its door open to reveal only the small shower stall, the sink and toilet- so, where was his brother?

"Sammy?" Dean asked and dropped the can of soda, "Sammy!"

Normally if his little brother was playing hide-and-seek, he'd have appeared by now- popped his head up from between the beds or stepped out from inside the shower- but all was silent in the motel room aside from Dean's breathing.

"No, no, no," Dean grabbed his hair in his fists and his eyes darted around the room- the window was still open, the stained curtains fluttering faintly in the hot breeze and at his feet, oh God, at his feet the meticulously laid salt line had been scattered, no longer able to protect anyone- and panic began to rise in his chest.

Dean turned around. Maybe Sammy's not gone; maybe he woke up and went looking for me.

Holding onto the doorframe with both hands, Dean's sharp eyes scoured the parking lot, lingering on every shadow, and every doorway for his brother.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as loudly as he dared- it wouldn't do any good to alert the other guests or the manager who might call CPS on him.

Not here, Sammy's not here; Dean's panic rose hot and painful in his chest and he felt tears of fear begin to prick at the corners of his eyes.

He had to call Dad; he would know what to do. Dean knew that he was only supposed to call their father only in the case of emergencies but with Sam having vanished into thin air, Dean considered this the direst of situations.

Dean stepped into the room, closed and locked the door, laid down another salt line and searched in his duffle for the 'Emergency Money'. There was a pay phone not far from the motel where Dean could call his Dad.

But what if Sammy comes back and I'm gone? Dean thought and paused with the coins in his hand.

Sammy will be scared if he can't find me, Dean continued, I should stay in case he comes back… at least for a little while.

Dean sat down on his bed, staring at his brother's and nervously tossing the coins from one hand to the other.

"C'mon Sammy, c'mon," Dean muttered, "This isn't funny, just come back."

He waited for five minutes and then Dean couldn't take it anymore. He slipped off the bed, grabbed the room keys from his pocket and closed the door after him. Dean peered from side to side, just to make sure his brother wasn't outside and then he dashed across the parking lot toward the phone booth.

The windows of the booth were grimy, smeared with handprints and dirt and other things Dean didn't want to think about. The door squeaked when the boy opened it and slipped inside. Once the door closed, Dean noticed that the booth had an earthy, rotten smell. Careful not to touch anything but the phone itself, Dean pushed the coins into the slot and punched the silvery number keys.

"C'mon Dad," Dean muttered as the phone rang against his ear. He'd had to stand up on tiptoe to retrieve the phone from its hook and slumped inside of the booth limply.

"Hello?" His father's deep voice answered.

"Dad! You've gotta come back here RIGHT NOW! Sammy's missing, I mean he's gone. One minute he was there and the next he just vanished. I'm scared Dad… I can't find him and what if he's hurt or lost?" Dean explained all within minutes.

"Calm down son, what's wrong? Sam's missing? Are you sure he's not just hiding?" John asked and Dean could hear the annoyance in his father's voice.

A few months earlier, while they'd been in Idaho, Sam had hidden away from Dean, planning on jumping out and scaring his big brother but fell asleep and didn't hear his brother calling. Dean had become frantic and had called their father. John had raced back from the middle of an interview with one of the witnesses to a banshee attack he was investigating and had been livid when Sam turned up, sleepy-eyed and complaining he was hungry.

"This is really real Dad. Sammy's gone," With that, Dean lost all control he'd had and began to cry into the phone. At least Dad might believe him now.

"Shit," Dad swore under his breath but Dean heard, "Okay, I'll be there in six hours. Go back to the room and wait for me there. If Sam comes back, you call me right away."

Dean nodded, "Okay."

"And don't forget to put salt lines down!" John said, "And you keep your gun with you."

"Yes, sir," Dean affirmed but with none of the usual enthusiasm.

W

Dean started at the knock on the motel room door. It was a little after four o'clock in the morning and the sky outside was reluctantly paling.

"Dean?" He heard his Dad's voice and ran to open to the door.

Dean paused with his hand on the lock, "Who's the greatest rock band of all time?"

"Dean, it's me," His Dad's voice sounded exasperated but Dean didn't budge.

"Say it," he demanded, "Or I'm not letting you in."

He heard his father sigh, "Led Zeppelin. Can I come in now?"

Dean opened the door and John stepped into the room, careful to step over the line of salt in front of the door.

Dean watched as his father's dark eyes took in the room- the television still playing, the rumpled sheets on Sam's bed, the fully made ones on Dean's, the empty containers of take-out Chinese shoved into the garbage can- and then look at his eldest son.

"What happened?" John asked and Dean gulped.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and spoke up, "Sammy was asleep and it was really hot so I just went around the corner to get a soda from the machine and when I came back Sam was gone."

"Did you lock the door?" Dad asked. Dean could see he was trying not to be angry and somehow that only made it worse.

"Uh huh," Dean muttered, "I made sure."

"How long were you gone?" Dad asked.

"Just a couple of minutes, honest!" Dean exclaimed, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly Dad turned his head toward Sammy's bed and walked over to it. He knelt down and looked under it as though Sam would be underneath.

Dean watched nervously, one hand clutching the opposite elbow as Dad sat back on his heels and sniffed.

"C'mere," Dad instructed and Dean made his way over slowly.

"Look," Dad pointed to the carpet just beside the bed where a thin coating of yellowy dust had been crushed into the fibers.

"We were kind of eating dinner on the beds-" Dean began but then Dad shook his head the way he did when they were training and Dean had made a glaring, obvious mistake.

"Sulfur, Dean, can't you smell it?" Dad said in a no-nonsense tone.

All Dean could smell was the faint cigarette scent of the motel room and his own sweat.

Dean gulped, "Does that me Sammy's been taken by-"

"Demons," Dad finished the sentence and he stood, walking past Dean and running his hands through his black hair.

Dean stood as if turned to stone. He couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely even breathe.

Demons, demons, demons, Sammy's been taken by demons.

"Okay, Dean, here's what we're going to do. We're going to pack up and go to Bobby's, if anyone can help us find a demon it'll be him," Dad spoke as he planned.

Dean remained where he was.

"Now Dean!" Dad snapped, startling Dean into motion.

As Dean packed up his duffle bag he wiped at his nose with his forearm, blinking furiously.

Uncle Bobby will find Sammy, I know he will.

Dad grabbed Sam's bag and pushed Dean out the door.

He's so angry, Dean thought, is he angry at me?

Dad unlocked the Impala's doors and Dean slipped into the front passenger's seat. Dad tossed Sammy's bag into the back and got into the car, revving the engine and peeling out of the parking lot without a glance backwards.

As Dad drove he lectured Dean: You should have been watching your brother, you should have paid more attention to your surroundings, you could get yourself killed acting like that, etc.

Dean sank lower and lower into his seat, already feeling miserable enough without his Dad rubbing it in.

Dean didn't see that John was blinking rapidly, sniffing as if he had allergies. Dean didn't know what John was thinking: I should have been watching out for the boys, I should have been paying more attention to them, I'm going to get them killed acting like this, etc.

Demons had his youngest boy and it was all his fault. Of course John knew that something like this would happen, how could it not? John had been probing into the dark underground world of demons, trying to find the demon and the sons of bitches had retaliated in like for all of their buddies John and Bobby Singer had exorcised.

But Sammy was only a little boy for God's sake! Barely four years old! He'd never hurt anyone in his life. Of course John wasn't that naïve- he knew that monsters killed anyone regardless of age or gender- there were many monsters that fed specifically on children, even. It didn't matter that Sam was only a child.

John supposed he should be relieved though that Dean hadn't been in the motel room when the demons came because he could have been kidnapped as well… or worse.

Dean saw that Dad was grinding his teeth, flexing his tight jaw and quickly stared out the window.

Don't worry Sammy, Dean thought, I'll find you. Don't be scared, I'm coming for you.


	2. Midnight At The Lost And Found

Bangor, Maine- 1999

Dean fumbled in the pocket of his jacket for his cell phone as it vibrated and trilled out the chords to 'Smoke on the Water.'

"Yeah?" he grouched into the speaker.

His father's voice came in loud and clear, "I'm still at the library… got them to let me stay after close so I'm gonna be a few more hours yet."

That was not completely unexpected news. The local police thought that his Dad was working for the FBI so they'd pretty much let John have anything he wanted- as long as he could stop the killing.

"Okay, well I'm headed back to the motel," Dean told him.

John made a sound in his throat, "Just as long as it doesn't involve a pit-stop at the bar."

Same goes for you too, Dad; Dean thought but didn't say it out loud.

"No sir," Dean muttered.

"Don't wait up for me," John instructed, "I'll wake you if I find out something."

"Okay," Dean said, "Happy hunting."

John hung up and Dean stared at the phone for a moment before closing it. Slipping the cell back into his pocket, Dean sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. He would have liked to spend all night hanging out at the local watering-hole, maybe pick up a girl for the night, but he wasn't in the mood, not tonight.

It was black as pitch out but that didn't stop Dean from driving ten over the speed limit. He let one hand free from the steering wheel and turned on the radio- the silence in the car was too oppressive- and grinned when 'Rock You Like A Hurricane' by the Scorpions came blaring through the speakers.

Dean peered up through the windshield just as a streak of colour dashed in front of the car.

"Shit!" Dean swore and slammed on the breaks.

He heard a solid thump as the Impala skidded to a halt, tires squealing on the blacktop.

Dean sat still for a moment, heart pounding in his chest, listening to the rumble of the engine.

"Please be a dog, oh God please be a dog," Dean whispered and unfastened his seatbelt before opening the door.

Dean got out of the car slowly, he couldn't believe he'd just hit someone's pet.

Cautiously, preparing himself for the sight of a mangled cat or dog, Dean inched toward the front of the Impala…

And his stomach dropped down to his feet. It was no dog or cat. It was a boy. He lay in a crumpled heap before the car's shiny metal fender.

"Fuck," Dean breathed and quickly moved to the boy's side.

He rolled the boy over and his stomach did a flip-flop when he realized he was still breathing.

"Hey, hey, kid," Dean lightly tapped the boy's cheek. His eyes fluttered weakly but Dean could see he was completely out of it.

"Okay," Dean stood and peered around- they were absolutely alone on a deserted stretch of road. Trees surrounded them on all sides and the only sounds- over the rumble of the Impala's engine- were the croak of tree frogs, the hooting of owls and the occasional howl of a coyote.

"Don't suppose your parents are nearby?" Dean muttered and looked down at the boy. He sighed; he had to make a snap decision.

Receiving no answer, Dean went back to the Impala and opened the passenger door in the back before he bent down and lifted the kid- one arm beneath the boy's shoulders, the other under his knees.

The boy was surprisingly light. He stirred feebly in Dean's grasp.

"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean muttered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

He slid the boy onto the bench seat and grabbed a blanket from the floor, draping it over the younger man and tucking the corners in.

Dean stood up and peered at the boy. There was something odd about him but Dean couldn't quite put his finger on it.

It was then that Dean noticed the boy's feet- which were sticking out from underneath the blanket- were bare. He had no socks or shoes on and they were dirty and bruised-looking, like he'd been walking a long distance.

Maybe he's a runaway; Dean mused and closed the door. He got into the driver's seat and started the car- music now pounding out the rapid tempo of Metallica's 'Blitzkrieg'- and headed straight for the motel.

W

"Trust me, Dad," Dean spoke quietly into the receiver as he paced around the room, "You're gonna wanna come back now."

After his father's promise that he'd drop everything and return to the motel, Dean peeked at the boy lying on one of the two beds.

The kid was still unconscious and that worried Dean a little bit so it comforted him somewhat that his Dad was coming back. John was always better at that medical crap than Dean was.

While he waited, Dean had a chance to give the boy a more thorough look-over. The kid had been so light because he was so damn thin. Not emaciated exactly, Dean wouldn't go so far as to say that, but the kid had no bulk to him. At all. Kid was all long arms and legs and bones sticking out like a pre-pubescent ten year-old. The kid's clothes weren't great either. Dean saw that he was wearing a pair of black jogging pants that were a little too short for him and an oversized white t-shirt stained with God knew what.

Not the kind of clothes you'd wanna be hiking in, Dean thought and wondered more and more if the kid had run away from something or someone.

The kid's dark brown hair was long, shoulder length, slightly wavy and in dire need of a wash.

There was a sharp knock on the motel room door and Dean opened it to see his father. John stepped inside and stopped when he saw the boy.

"Who's that?" he asked suspiciously.

Dean scratched the back of his head, "I might have hit him with the car."

"You what!" John shouted in anger.

"He ran in front of me! I couldn't stop fast enough!" Dean countered, "I don't think he's got any broken bones or anything."

"Why didn't you bring him to a hospital," John moved further into the room and stood by the bed, peering down at the boy.

"Dad, look at him," Dean pointed to the boy, "What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say?"

John glowered at his son.

He's not happy with any decision I make so why should this be any different? Dean thought and spoke, "Besides, maybe he knows something, ya know?"

John raised an eyebrow.

"He was running around in the Maine woodlands," Dean suggested, feeling that it was a lame excuse but stuck to his guns.

"Look, I couldn't leave him out in the middle of nowhere and I wasn't going to dump him at some random hospital either," Dean explained, "Kid's got no ID on him anyway. Haven't a clue as to who he is."

"Alright," John acquiesced reluctantly, "We'll wait until he wakes up, find out who he is and then take him back to his family."

Dean nodded but even then he didn't think he'd be returning the boy to his parents- Dean didn't think the boy had any- since the kid looked to be around fifteen or sixteen years old and someone that age should know better than to wander around outside without shoes or proper clothing.

Dean sat down on the opposite bed, watching the boy's chest rise and fall with each breath while John pulled his duffle bag to his side and sat down at the rickety table in one corner of the room. The older hunter pulled a thick leather-bound tome from the bag and flipped through it.

Dean's attention waned after a while and he took his cell phone out, scrolling down the contact list until he found Bobby's name.

"Hey, maybe we could call Bobby, for the case you know?" he suggested and his father gave a noncommittal grunt in response.

Dean sighed and turned back to the boy when he gave a groan and his eyes fluttered in his sleep.

"Dad, I think he's waking up!" Dean exclaimed excitedly and leaned closer.

John was at Dean's side immediately and looked like he was having a difficult time resisting the urge to shake the boy by the shoulders.

Dean bit his lip in anticipation, John's hands clenched into loose fists.

The boy's eyes opened slowly, painfully- Dean could see that they were bright, mossy green- and something tugged at his heart.

John moved forward but stopped just before touching the boy. Dean glared at his father from the corner of his eye- 'give him a minute before you go all Spanish Inquisition on him' his look said.

The kid struggled to sit up and cautiously Dean helped him lean his back against the bed's headrest. The kid panted, warily staring at the two men through long dark bangs, his eyes glazed and slightly unfocused.

"It's okay kid, we're not gonna hurt you," Dean tried to sooth.

"Who are you? Where am I?" the kid blurted out.

"You're at a motel," John rumbled from behind Dean.

The kid's eyes darted around the room and he groaned softly in pain.

"Take it easy," Dean cautioned, "Just relax, okay?"

"Are you going to take me back?" the kid asked and Dean frowned.

"Back where?" John interrupted.

"The school," the kid said defiantly.

Dean looked at his father. The kid could only be talking about some sort of boarding school but there were none in the immediate area. Then again, the kid did look like he'd been walking for miles.

Dean shook his head, "We won't do anything you don't want us to, right Dad?"

John didn't say anything but nodded.

The kid's defiant expression crumpled and he took a few shuddering breaths.

"Hey, its okay, it is… you can stay as long as you need to," Dean said, earning a withering glare from his father.

The kid shook his head, "I can't… I have to leave…"

At this the boy swung his legs off the bed but Dean put a hand on his knee, halting his progress, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You've gotta take it easy, kid. How long have you been running anyway?"

The kid stopped trying to get off the bed and blinked up at Dean and John.

"I- I don't really know…" the kid muttered.

"He should really be in a hospital, Dean," John whispered in his son's ear, "We don't know anything about him, hell, how do we know he isn't possessed or bitten by a werewolf or any number of other monsters? Did you even do the tests before you brought him here?"

John's tone was accusatory and Dean's shoulders slumped because, no, he hadn't thought about testing the kid out while he rushed to the motel room, afraid he'd seriously injured the poor bastard.

John nodded and headed over to his duffle bag, pulling a silver flask of holy water out.

"Here, drink this," John spoke in his ex-Marine voice- a voice Dean knew to convey complete and utter authority with no room for disobedience.

Dean uncapped the flask and held it out to the boy. The kid looked at the offered water warily, "What is it?"

"Just water," Dean said and demonstrated its harmlessness by tipping the mouth of the flask to his lips, letting the water wet them but not actually drinking.

The kid reached out and held the flask with both hands. He wasn't throwing the silver vessel away from him and screeching- so far so good.

The boy guzzled down the water, it had picked up a metallic taste from the canister but it was better than the water from the stagnant pools he'd stopped at while he'd walked- unable to find a stream or river.

When the boy handed the empty flask back to Dean with no ill-effects, the older boy raised an eyebrow at his father in a 'what were you so worried about?' look.

John crossed his arms over his chest; not looking at all convinced that the boy wouldn't turn into a snarling, foaming werewolf as soon as the clouds scudded away from the fat, bloated moon outside.

"You need to stay in bed, you might have a concussion," Dean instructed in a less severe tone than his father would have spoken with.

The kid's eyes darted from Dean to John, "But I… I can't stay… I need to leave… they'll come for me… they'll find me!"

Dean raised an eyebrow and John growled deep in his throat, "Who's looking for you?"

The boy looked frightened for a moment, "At the school…"

"Yes?" John pressed, shouldering past Dean who glared daggers at him in return. John's 'take-no-shit' Drill Sergeant attitude wasn't going to get them anywhere.

The boy looked at the two older men with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face, his mouth opened and closed several times as though he wanted to speak but then he shook his head.

John grabbed Dean's upper arm and pulled him away from the boy, "We're talking. Now."

The two crossed the room so as not to be overheard and Dean pulled out of his father's grasp, "What the fuck's wrong with you, Dad?"

John glowered, "What the fuck's wrong with me? Dean, we know nothing about this kid- where he's from, who his parents are, what his name is- and you want to go all Good Samaritan on him! He could be dangerous, he could be lying-"

"I don't know what you're seeing but all I see is a scared kid who apparently has been running for his life and needs our help! Have we stopped helping innocent people? Did I not get the memo because the last time I checked we helped anyone who was in need… anyone," Dean whispered heatedly back.

John sighed, "Well, he didn't react to the silver or the holy water at least."

"Damn straight!" Dean agreed.

"Fine, take care of him if you want Dean, but he's your responsibility," John instructed his son as though Dean had picked up a puppy instead of a boy.

Dean waved a hand in exasperation at his father, "All I wanted was to take the kid back to his family."

John's expression softened somewhat, then. Dean had a big heart, always trying to be the hero and save the day. Boy needed to learn the realities though- there were not always happy endings. Sometimes you were just a little too late to save everyone.

He knew that Dean was not stupid, far from it in fact, but sometimes he tried a little too hard to save those who couldn't be saved.

"Have you had dinner yet?" John asked his son, changing the subject.

Dean shook his head.

John nodded, "Me either. I'll go and get us some burgers."

Dean watched as his father's gaze travelled to the boy sitting on the bed, staring them curiously.

"See if you can get him to talk," John suggested. The kid would probably open up more readily if he wasn't there.

"Yes sir," Dean said and John grabbed the keys to his truck and left the motel room.

Dean turned to the boy. He approached slowly, so as not to scare the kid and spoke softly.

"My Dad's just getting us something to eat. Are you hungry? Do you like burgers?"

The kid watched Dean warily as he sat down on the bed across from him. He tilted his head to the side. He was hungry- the last thing he'd eaten before arriving in this place was a handful of berries he'd found in the forest- but he wasn't sure he wanted a burger, whatever that was.

Dean gave the kid a smile, trying to reassure the boy that he wasn't going to hurt him.

"I'm Dean," he introduced himself. He couldn't keep thinking of the kid as, well, 'The Kid' for the remainder of his time with the Winchesters.

The boy made no response.

"That's when you say what your name is," Dean prompted.

The kid looked a little bit surprised as though he'd never been asked his name before, Dean thought- and peered around the room as though it would give him time to think of a lie.

"My name's Samuel," the boy finally answered after a lengthy pause.

Dean kept his own shocked expression in check. His heart pounded excitedly in his chest though. Could it just be a coincidence? Dean wondered. There was probably a shit-ton of boys out there named Samuel. But I don't believe in coincidence, Dean told himself.

"That's a cool name," Dean smiled.

Samuel shrugged, "I guess. Never thought about it before."

"My Dad's name is John," Dean offered, trying to get Samuel to talk to him.

The boy nodded.

"What are your parents' names?" Dean asked curiously.

"I don't know," Samuel answered in a voice that was barely above a whisper. He had never met his parents before. Samuel had been at the school for as long as he could remember- all the children had been- and not a single one of them could recall their parents' names or faces. They'd been told that such attachments were unimportant and it would be best to forget them. Dean sat back. How could the boy not know what his parents' names were? Could they be those weird people who called each other 'Mom' and 'Dad'? Dean hadn't thought people actually did that sort of thing.

"That's okay, Sam," Dean said casually and then realized what he'd just said. "Samuel," Dean corrected quickly.

The boy didn't seem to notice the mistake though.

"Do you live here?" Samuel asked, peering around the room, his gaze not as wary as it had been, a mild curiosity shone in his green eyes now.

"We move around a lot, this is only temporary," Dean explained. What kid didn't know what a motel was?

There was something very odd about the boy. He seemed like he was smart but he appeared to be missing important everyday knowledge, stuff that anybody would know.

"So this, uh, school of yours… what did they teach you there?" Dean asked, maybe the kid was part some sort of cult. That would better explain why the kid had been running as though Hell Hounds were chasing him.

Samuel shrugged and refused to acknowledge Dean's question. He looked away from the older boy to study the sunburst wall clock as though he found it fascinating.

Dean pursed his lips. Getting answers from the kid was like pulling teeth.

Before Dean could ask the kid anything else, the door to the motel opened and John stepped inside, a greasy paper bag clutched in one hand.

"Great! I'm starving!" Dean jumped up from the bed and crossed the room within seconds, taking the baggie from his father.

John looked at his son but the expression on Dean's face said that they would talk later.

Dean pulled a chair out at the shaky-legged table and looked at the boy, "C'mon over here and sit."

Samuel stood immediately, instinctually obeying what sounded like an order and made his way quickly to the table. He sat down and waited.

John took his seat and Dean rummaged around in the take-out bag for the food, pulling out three wax-paper wrapped hamburgers.

"Only three?" Dean asked, a little disappointed.

John rolled his eyes, "Next time you can buy a dozen if you like."

"I'm a growing boy, I need all the food I can get," Dean commented with a wry grin and slid a burger over to his father and Samuel.

John just shrugged. He knew Dean could eat a like a horse but he didn't want to tell his son that he had been a little bit strapped for cash; John didn't want his boy to know that most of the money had gone to the five bottles of whiskey he'd stashed in his truck.

Dean unwrapped his burger and took a large bite, munching happily on the greasy, hot food. John likewise began eating, with the same table manners as his son and nobody said anything as the first bites of dinner were taken.

Dean stopped in mid-chew when he saw that the boy, Samuel, was watching him eat but hadn't touched his food at all.

The older boy put his half-eaten burger on its paper wrapper, "Aren't you hungry?"

"Oh, um," Samuel's gaze slid down and an uneasy expression appeared on his face.

John had also stopped eating and was peering curiously at the boy.

"Don't you like hamburgers?" Dean asked as though speaking to a child.

Samuel shrugged and he bit his lip, embarrassed.

John looked at Dean from the corner of his eye- 'you deal with him'- the expression said.

"Have you ever eaten a burger before?" Dean asked now.

Samuel shook his head.

Dean smiled reassuringly, "You'll like them. Just try a little bit."

What kid hasn't had a burger? Dean and John wondered simultaneously.

Dean watched the boy slowly unwrap the paper from the burger, pick it up and scrutinize it for a moment before taking a tentative nibble.

The Winchesters watched as the boy chewed thoughtfully for a moment before his nose wrinkled and he sat the burger down on the paper. Dean's eyes widened- he didn't like it!

"It's an acquired taste," Dean supplied as though they were eating caviar or escargot or foie gras.

Samuel nodded and the two Winchesters continued with their meal.

Kid should really eat something; Dean thought and looked quizzically at John.

Dean's Dad just shrugged and crumpled his burger wrapper into a ball before tossing it into the trash can beside the table.

Dean stood and stretched, checked his watch and spoke to his father, "It's getting late Dad; do you want me to tuck you into bed?"

John scowled but nodded, knowing Dean wanted to speak to him.

The Winchesters had separate rooms- yes, it was a little more money but it allowed for privacy- which was exactly what Dean liked, especially if he and John were fighting. John paused to grab his duffle bag from the table- intending to organize some of his research in his own room.

The two men stepped outside; Dean left the door ajar after telling Samuel that he would be right back (and secretly hoped the boy wouldn't take off) and waited impatiently as John unlocked the door to his own room.

John's room was strewn with papers; research. Notes had been handwritten and thrown haphazardly across the table, the unused second bed, tacked onto the walls.

"Find anything?" Dean asked his father. He hadn't had a chance to ask if John's search of the files at the library had been fruitful or not.

"Still think it's a ghost," John rubbed the stubble on his chin, "But for the life of me I can't find a God damn thing about any deaths that would warrant such a thing."

The Winchesters had arrived in Bangor, Maine a week ago after hearing reports of several local drownings. The victims had all be young men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight and had apparently all be in good shape, leaving everyone to wonder how they had managed to drown. The incidents had occurred at a man-made lake just outside of the city- a lake which had no ill events connected to it- and all in the twilight hours of the day.

"Maybe it's not a ghost," Dean suggested.

"What the fuck could it be, though?" John wondered out loud.

"Demon, shapeshifter," Dean began to list but his father shook his head.

"There was no sulfur at the lake or on any of the victims and none of the victims were robbed or anything like that so it rules out a shifter," John argued.

"Maybe it just likes killing guys for shits and giggles," Dean countered, "We have come across those types of monsters too."

John still couldn't shake the feeling it was a ghost though, not one victim had defensive wounds, it all appears that they had just gone into the water and died. It had to be a ghost; any forced drowning would leave signs.

Changing the subject John said, "I'll call Bobby in the morning, get his opinion. What did you find out about the kid?"

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "His name's Samuel-"

John's eyes flashed at that, "Dean, what-"

His son waved the interrupted question away, "I know, Dad, I know. Let me talk, will you?"

John nodded and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"I didn't ask for a last name… He doesn't know who his parents are," Dean continued.

John didn't look surprised, "He must be an orphan, a ward of the state and possibly a runaway from a foster home."

Dean nodded. That made sense, he had heard that some of the places kids got sent to were little better than Hell. No wonder the kid had run away. Dean supposed that the wilderness was better than a shit-hole masquerading as a foster home.

"That doesn't explain the school he keeps talking about," Dean told John.

"Maybe it's got something to do with the foster home," John suggested.

"So… What are we going to do about him?" Dean asked, slowly, cautiously.

"I'm gonna call up the local CPS and see if they've had any recent reports of runaways and if they have, well, we'll send him back," John thought that was the best thing to do. The boy, Samuel, was not his or Dean's responsibility, really. He was a ward of the state and as such, the state of Maine would deal with him as it wished. John hunted monsters; he did not babysit teenage foster home runaways.

"You can't take him back! You know he could have come from one of those bad homes, why would you want to send him back there?" Dean exclaimed.

"Dean, he's only got a couple of more years to go before he's legally of age, after that he can leave but right now he can't be traipsing all over New England," John said, trying to reason with his overzealous son.

Dean was shaking his head, "Okay, what if he's not a runaway?"

"Then you can personally take him to a hospital or the police station and they can locate his folks," John said in a stern voice.

"I'm not dumping him off anywhere," Dean gritted his teeth.

"He's a young man, Dean, not a stray dog you picked up off the street!" John growled, growing angry.

"All the more reason to help him," Dean argued, "Because that's what we do, help people!"

John just shook his head, "Fine, Dean, I don't care what you do but when we wrap this case up and are ready to leave that boy is not coming with us."

Dean didn't know what to say. He wanted to help Samuel so badly but John wasn't giving him any options. He'd have to find something permanent for the kid- a distant aunt or grandfather he could live with- because Dean knew that John wasn't going to budge from his decision.

Dean turned away from his father and stepped out the door. He was so angry at his father. John never listened to him, never trusted him again after what happened with Sammy. Dean sighed; he wished he could go back to that hot, Kentucky evening and do things differently, do things right and maybe he'd still have his little brother and his Dad wouldn't be a drunk and the guilt wouldn't constantly be eating away at his insides.

Dean pulled himself together as he stepped back into his own room. Samuel was still sitting at the table but the previously nibbled hamburger the kid had discarded, was gone. Dean held back a smile. Kid must have been hungry after all.

"Are you tired? It's kind of late?" Dean asked, checking his watch and saw it was just past nine-thirty- not late at all by Winchester standards- but he thought Samuel must be exhausted.

Samuel lifted one shoulder, "A little bit."

Dean nodded and grabbed his duffle bag, rummaging around in it before pulling out what he'd been searching for.

The older boy held out a pair of clean, old jogging pants and a t-shirt.

Samuel peered at them curiously but didn't move to take the offered clothes.

"I figure you'd wanna wear something cleaner," Dean commented.

"Oh, uh, thank you," Samuel took the clothes.

"You can take a shower if you like," Dean suggested. Probably should, he thought, wash off all that sweat and road dust.

Samuel turned to the bathroom and made his way inside, closing the door behind him. Dean waited until he heard the shower before he sat down. Dean really didn't know what to do- he knew that he couldn't have the kid tagging along when he and John were ready to leave but he also didn't want to dump Samuel out on his ass either.

Dean wished that John would show just a little bit of faith in him. There was something about the kid that intrigued Dean, that tugged at his heart and called to him- he knew it sounded sappy but that was just the effect the boy had on him- and he was interested in learning more about the mysterious teen.

He turned to the bathroom when he heard the water shut off and Samuel emerged, looking much better for the shower.

Dean smiled; he got up and took Samuel's dirty clothes. The boy was still a little awkward- of course he would be, Dean reminded himself- and stood before the open bathroom door as though unsure of how to proceed.

"Ready for bed?" Dean asked as he would of a child.

Samuel shrugged one shoulder, "I guess so."

Dean pointed to the bed he'd laid the boy on when he brought him to the motel- it had originally been Dean's but since there were two beds he didn't mind giving his up- and Samuel obediently went over and sat down amongst the rumpled sheets.

Dean noticed that the kid was not really getting ready to sleep- he simply sat there as though waiting for a cue only he could hear- staring at Dean.

The older teen sighed and pulled off his boots and socks. It was ridiculously early but apparently the kid wanted Dean to go to sleep as well.

"Is this what you want?" Dean asked, not bothering to hide the vehemence in his voice as he turned out the lights and stumbled blindly to his bed and lay down on his back.

"Happy now? Will you go to sleep?" Dean grumbled.

No, Samuel thought. He was not happy- he was scared and tired and all he wanted to do was keep running away as far as he could go. He wanted to forget everything that had happened in the past days and not be constantly terrified he'd be found out. He was not tired. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins and into his heart- Samuel didn't know a person could have that much energy- leaving him wide awake and on edge, nervous.

Dean sat up and squinted at the kid in the darkened room.

"What happened to you?" he asked quietly, not even sure if the boy had heard him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Meatloaf song.


	3. Motherless Children

"The School", State Unknown-1999

The school that was not in fact a school appeared to be an old, rambling farmhouse. The house's wood frame was weathered silver from the snow and wind and rain, its windows dark and dirty. A white-washed fence for a paddock stood to one side of the farmhouse, a barn with flaking red paint on the other side. To anyone passing by on the road it would look like a quiet, sleepy homestead. But it was not a farm and it was not a school.

It was a prison.

W

The boy's heart pounded frantically in his chest as he ran. Resisting the urge to look back, he stared straight ahead at the small copse of trees that was his destination.

Grimacing in pain as his bare feet crushed the dry, prickly grass or stepped on an unseen rock, the boy refused to stop. He had to keep going. He had to get as far away as he possibly could.

The boy hit the copse of trees and slipped past gnarly branches and rough trunks, ignoring the leafy fingers snagging on his hair and clothes. Pinecones and leaf litter crunched underfoot loudly and the boy held his breath, ears straining for the sounds of pursuit.

Panting and exhausted the boy finally rested. His feet were cut and bleeding and his lungs ached with exertion. Sweat ran down the boy's face and back in rivulets. Leaning his brow against the papery bark of a birch tree, the boy took a few moments to catch his breath.

He couldn't stop. Not here. Not now. He was still too close.

Straightening up, the boy brushed his sweat-soaked bangs off his forehead with his arm and lurched forward. He was scared, there was no denying that. He was scared of what lay before him, unknown. But he was more frightened of what lay behind him, of what he'd escaped.

In a matter of moments his world had been turned upside down and everything he'd once known was now filled with uncertainty.

The only thing the boy knew for sure was that he was never going back.

Gathering up his strength, the boy pushed onward, brushing branches out of his way as he trudged determinedly onward, the taste of freedom pulling him forward.

W

Samuel crouched at the windowsill, peering outside at the full moon illuminating the yard below in silvery light. He could hear the muted chirping of crickets hiding in the dewy grass and the soft snores of the other boys in the room, fast asleep as he should be.

He smiled softly, he loved it when everything was silent and he was the only one awake. He could think when it was quiet like this.

Samuel glanced furtively over his shoulder when one of the other boys coughed and he ducked down below the window. Holding his breath, Samuel waited as he listened to his roommate shift in bed for a moment before settling down again.

Letting out a quiet breath, Samuel peered over the edge of the windowsill, smiling once his gaze lit upon the full moon again.

W

Samuel grunted in pain when the heavy medicine ball hit him in the stomach. Doubling over, he tried to catch his breath and wipe surreptitiously at the tears in his eyes.

"Again!" LeGraine's voice rapped out and Samuel straightened. He watched enviously as the dark brown ball rolled across the lawn toward Max without any physical encouragement.

The blond boy appeared to almost glare at the ball for a moment before it floated up into the air as though it was as weightless as a helium-filled balloon.

Concentrate, Samuel told himself, focus on the ball.

Max telekinetically flung the medicine ball at Samuel once more and grinned when it smacked into the other boy's face.

Samuel stumbled from the impact, hands going immediately to his gushing nose, lowering his head in shame as the other kids burst out laughing.

Before the boy could slink away and hide, a strong hand gripped his shoulder. Samuel looked up through watery eyes and saw LeGraine scowling sourly at him.

"That was pathetic," the man practically snarled, "Get your head out of the clouds, boy!"

Samuel ducked his head even lower, "I'm sorry; I'll do better next time."

LeGraine all but sneered at the young man, "Clean yourself up."

Samuel nodded and walked past the man without another word. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and stared at the blood on his knuckles.

Bangor, Maine-1999

Dean blinked his eyes open slowly. Something had woken him but he couldn't immediately figure out what it was… the alarm clock wasn't going off and the light coming in from the motel's cheap curtains was still grey- the sun hadn't even begun to rise yet- so he rolled onto his side to catch a few more hours of rest when he caught sight of the boy.

The events of last night all came crashing back to him and Dean sat up in bed. Samuel was likewise sitting up but he looked anything but relaxed. He had his knees pulled up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his thin legs.

"Hey," Dean said quietly so he wouldn't scare the boy, "It's alright."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dean slid from his bed and carefully sat down on the edge of the boy's.

"Do you remember me? I'm Dean," he continued to whisper, "From last night? Remember?"

After a moment the boy nodded his head, his chin banging against his kneecaps as he did so.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Dean asked, checking the time from the corner of his eye and groaning inwardly when he saw it was six a.m.

The boy turned to look at Dean and he saw that the teen's eyes were red-rimmed.

"Was it about this school of yours?" Dean asked gently.

The boy's eyes went wide, "You won't take me back there, will you? You can't!"

"Okay, it's okay," Dean tried to sooth, "I'm not going to take you anywhere you don't want to go, I promise."

The boy looked like he didn't believe Dean but then he breathed out a sigh. Dean wondered how much sleep the kid had managed to get the night before.

Deciding that he might as well get ready for the day, Dean stood and stretched. The boy watched him curiously.

"I'm gonna take a shower and then I'll take you out for breakfast, okay?" Dean told the younger man, "Don't go anyway."

Only half-joking about that last part, Dean grabbed his duffle bag and went into the bathroom.

Five minutes into his shower, Dean wore and nearly lost his footing on the bottom of the slippery bathtub when fierce knocking cut through the rain-like sound of water from the showerhead. Turning off the water, Dean reached out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. There was no question in Dean's mind as to who was pounding on the door; he was just surprised his father was up at this hour.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Dean didn't see the boy and thought he'd disappeared, took off.

"Shit," Dean muttered under his breath and then cursed a second time when he spied the top of the boy's head from between the beds. The kid was curled up with his hands over his ears.

Stomping to the door, Dean yanked it open with more force than necessary and glowered at his father.

"What?" Dean snapped, irritably.

"The police found another body," John answered brusquely.

Dean deflated. He wiped a hand over his face, pushing his dripping bangs from his brow.

"When?" He asked his father with a lot less anger in his voice.

"Early this morning," John told him, "The coroner is doing an autopsy right now but I'm pretty sure it'll be like the others."

Dean bit his lip, "Do you need me to come with you?"

John began nodding but then he stopped, peering past his son into the interior of the motel room, "That boy still here?"

"Yeah," Dean said sharply, "I didn't get a chance to kick him out before you came over."

"I can go to the morgue by myself," John amended his initial response.

Dean didn't argue. He was a little too young to masquerade as a FBI agent anyway so his father had been going solo on this case. Dean tried to help out with the research but it was John who interviewed witnesses, visited the morgue and talked to the local police.

Dean was really just along for the ride on this one, more or less.

"Remember what I said, Dean," John said coldly, "After this case…"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "He'll be someone else's responsibility."

John narrowed his eyes at his son, "It's for his own good."

Dean scowled and closed the door before his father could say more.

"What a way to start the morning, eh?" Dean asked as he turned around.

The boy was still huddled between the beds and apparently hadn't heard Dean or was too frightened to respond.

"Samuel?" Dean asked and stepped forward cautiously, "It's alright. It's okay; it was just my Dad."

The kid was practically rocking back and forth, eyes squeezed shut.

"Samuel," Dean tried to get the boy's attention again, "Sammy?"

Dean's throat tightened painfully as the nickname slipped out but he didn't care. The boy was clearly terrified and needed all the comfort Dean could provide. That was, if he allowed Dean to comfort him.

Slowly, Dean reached out and placed a hand on the boy's leg, "Nothing's going to hurt you."

Incrementally, the boy's head lifted up and he peered nervously at Dean.

"It was just my father," Dean repeated, "You remember him? His name's John."

Samuel scooted away from Dean's touch- the older man's hand falling limply to his side- and gulped.

"I thought… I th-thought it was-" Samuel began but held his tongue at the last minute.

Dean's sympathetic expression became laced with curiosity, "Yes?"

Samuel sniffed and looked away.

Sighing, Dean stood up and turned back toward the bathroom, "I'll just get dressed and then we can go out."

W

Dean couldn't help but smile as he watched Samuel stare open-mouthed out the Impala's passenger window. It had taken some coaxing but he had eventually convinced the young man to enter the car- Samuel had refused to put the seatbelt on but Dean let that one slide- and felt unusually happy at this show of trust.

Before leaving the motel room, Dean had found a new change of clothes for the boy to wear- one of his old t-shirts and a pair of jeans with the knees ripped out of them- so that he (hopefully) wouldn't attract unwanted attention. The most challenging part of helping Samuel get dressed was finding him shoes. Having no footwear of his own, the younger man obviously could not walk around in public with bare feet as he had been when Dean had found him. Now that would raise questions. In a stroke of uncommon good luck, Dean had a pair of sneakers that he had been neglecting to throw out. He had bought himself new boots that would certainly better protect his feet on hunts and had thrown the shoes into the bottom of his duffle bag. Dean grimaced when he recalled the hunt that had solidified his decision to change his choice of footwear. A few months ago, Dean and his father had been on the case of the ghost of a young woman who had been killed in a quarry. Back in the '50s the girl had been playing with some friends there- illegally- and had died when the side of the quarry caved and sent hundreds of tons of rock on top of her. Although the Winchesters realized that the spirit was only trying to scare would-be victims away from the dangerous quarry, some of the people ended up dying and that was unacceptable. While trying to find the girl's body amongst the fallen rock, John would have broken his foot when the angry spirit heaved a large-sized rock at him. Scrambling out of the way, John nearly made it but had been pinned by the stone landing on his foot. After some quick searching, Dean had uncovered the spirit's remains and burnt them, sending the girl to her eternal rest. With nothing but a bruised foot- and bruised pride- John walked away from the hunt with Dean, thanks in part to the construction boots he'd insisted on wearing.

Dean shook his head at the memory and pulled into the parking lot of a Biggerson's restaurant.

W

"Trust me, you're gonna love these," Dean told Samuel as he ordered pancakes for the younger man.

They were sitting at the back of the diner, away from the crowds- Dean didn't think Samuel would appreciate being close to so many strangers- against a window with a view of the parking lot and the sidewalk that ran alongside the restaurant.

Dean sipped his coffee and looked around, eyeing the other patrons. No one seemed to be paying attention to them; no one was looking at the teenage boy with overly-long hair and clothes that were too big for him. No one cared.

That was fine with Dean. He didn't want anyone asking him question he couldn't answer. He didn't feel like fabricating information about a boy he barely knew this early in the morning.

Samuel was peering around Dean to try and take in the sights of the diner.

"I guess you've never eaten out before?" he asked and Samuel shook his head and then lowered his gaze shyly. He had never been around this many people before and the noise was a little overwhelming. He wrung his hands together as they sat on his lap and stared at the tabletop.

Good going, genius; Dean chastised himself. Scare the kid why don't you? Fantastic way to start things off.

The waitress appeared with their orders, "Is there anything else I can get you?

"This is perfect, thanks," Dean gave the young woman a charming grin and picked up his knife and fork.

"Enjoy," she smiled at Dean before turning around and bustling towards the counter to check on the customers sitting at the bar.

Samuel stared at the food on his plate. Flat and round and golden-brown, Dean had called them 'pancakes' but he had seen pictures of cakes before and they did not resemble them in the slightest.

"What's wrong?" Dean's voice startled Samuel slightly and he flinched.

The teen shook his head.

"Try them," Dean coaxed, "They're really good. You've gotta put butter and syrup on them first though."

Samuel didn't move as the older man grabbed a handful of individually packaged butters and peeled three of them open, smearing the creamy yellow butter onto the pancakes with his knife. He watched silently as Dean poured a generous helping of maple syrup over the whole mess.

Samuel took hold of his knife and fork and began cutting the pancakes into bite-sized pieces. He speared some on the end of his fork and examined it for a moment. He had never eaten anything like this before. Taking a tentative bite, Samuel chewed slowly, cautiously before deciding that he liked the taste and quickly scooped up more of the soggy treat.

Dean watched the young man eat, a small smile on his face as he did so. Sammy had loved pancakes, would have eaten them for every meal if he'd been allowed to and Dean was sure that this Sam would love them as much as his own little brother had. Dean's eyes began burning at the thought of his younger brother and he was forced to turn away from Samuel, sniffing quietly, but the teen didn't appear to notice.

Dean grabbed his cell phone when it vibrated in his pocket and checked the caller ID. It was his father.

Sighing, Dean opened the phone, "Yeah?"

"Where are you?" John asked, sounding annoyed.

Dean wiped a hand over his face. Samuel had stopped eating and was watching him.

"I'm out with Samuel," Dean answered his father, "Did you find anything at the morgue?"

John didn't respond for a moment or two but Dean could hear him gritting his teeth, "It's just like all the others. Drowned with no signs of struggle at that manmade lake."

"Damn," Dean cursed and motioned at Samuel to continue eating.

"I could really use your help with the research," John suggested.

Dean shook his head, "I don't think this one calls for research… no one has died badly there in the past so it can't be a ghost or any other type of spirit. I still think it's something else."

"Than get over here and help me figure this out!" John snapped irritably at his son.

"Dad, I-" Dean began, only to be interrupted by his father.

"People are dying, Dean! Do your job!" John growled.

"I can't just leave the kid," the young man argued.

"He's not yours to look after, Dean! He's not your responsibility!" John exclaimed vehemently, "And he wouldn't be with you now if you hadn't run him down!"

Dean clenched his teeth, "What was I supposed to do, Dad?"

"Take him to the hospital or the police and let them deal with it! We hunt monsters, damn it! We're in the middle of a case! We don't have time to babysit wayward teenagers!" John ranted and Dean closed his cell in exasperation.

The young man closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He peered over at Samuel to see the boy watching him curiously.

"It's alright," Dean muttered and smiled at the younger man.

"Are you in trouble?" Samuel asked, looking guilty.

"No! Of course not," Dean shook his head, "My Dad's just stressed out about this case."

"Oh," Samuel muttered but he didn't look any better.

"Are you still hungry?" Dean asked. He had barely eaten any of his own breakfast but he didn't care, he didn't have any appetite now.

Samuel pushed the plate away and folded his arms over his chest.

"The School", State Unknown-1999

"Samuel?" The boy lifted his head at the sound of his friend's voice. He wiped at his eyes for a moment and squinted across the bales of damp, moldy straw.

"I'm here," he whispered and Andrew climbed up the ladder and stepped into the hayloft.

The smaller boy approached Samuel slowly, almost cautiously. His hair was mousy-brown and tousled, his eyes a light brown. He wore an oversized grey t-shirt and dark blue sweat pants.

"Are they looking for me?" Samuel asked from the nest he'd made of old straw.

Andrew shook his head, "Not yet."

The smaller boy sat down beside his friend and put an arm around Samuel's shoulders.

"Andrew…. I had that dream again," Samuel whispered cautiously.

The other boy frowned, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He tightened his grip on his friend's back, hugging him.

"Did you tell LeGraine?" Andrew ventured but Samuel shook his head.

The smaller boy didn't know what to say. He didn't want his friend to get into trouble but he knew that LeGraine should know about Samuel's dream.

"I don't think it's important," Samuel suggested half-heartedly.

"Why?" Andrew asked.

"I think… I think I saw my Mom," Samuel said, his eyes wide when he looked up at his friend.

Andrew's mouth opened in shock.

"How do you know?" He asked and Samuel shrugged.

"I'm not sure… All I remember is fire and a woman with blonde hair," Samuel explained.

"And you think she's your mother?" Andrew asked, jealously tingeing his voice.

"Who else could she be?"

Andrew paused, thinking.

"Maybe you could ask LeGraine," the boy suggested, "He's sure to know who she is."

Samuel nodded. If anyone would know about his parents LeGraine and Truefold would.

W

LeGraine sneered down at Samuel, a hand fisted in the teen's long hair.

"Mother? HA!" the man laughed and the boy let out a small whimper.

"You don't have any parents!" LeGraine continued, smiling at the tears welling up in Samuel's eyes.

"Why do you think you're here? No one wanted you," he explained, "Your own parents abandoned you!"

Samuel cried out in pain as LeGraine began pulling him down the hall. All he'd done was take Andrew's advice and ask if the woman in his dream could have been his mother.

"Pl-please stop!" he choked out. He didn't know why LeGraine was so angry at him.

To Samuel's surprise, LeGraine did stop. He released his grip on the boy and shoved him while he was still unbalanced. Samuel hit the wall and fell with the force.

"You ungrateful bastard!" LeGraine snarled, "Truefold and I feed you, we clothe you, teach you and this is the thanks we get in return?!"

Samuel covered his head with his hands, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

LeGraine kicked the boy in the ribs- not hard enough to break them- and grinned sardonically when Samuel yelped in response.

Reaching down, he grabbed the boy's arms and pulled him up; shaking him once the young man was standing.

"You're disappointing me," he peered into Samuel's watery eyes, "Remember why you're here."

Samuel nodded and bowed his head. LeGraine released him and Samuel didn't look up again until he heard the man's footsteps fade down the hallway.

The young man drew a shaky breath, wincing when his ribs twinged and leaned back against the wall.

His parents had abandoned him? They didn't want him? It only made sense of course, they had never visited the school before- the only adult Samuel knew besides LeGraine and Truefold was Mr. Lane- but it still hurt.

Maybe they found out about my powers, Samuel thought. He knew he wasn't normal, that much was for sure. That was why he was at the school- why all the children were there- to learn how to hone their powers and use them for 'the greater good' as LeGraine and Truefold called it.

Samuel wiped his face and sighed. He thought about the woman from his dreams, calling to mind her delicate features, her crystalline blue eyes and golden hair. He tried to imagine her looking at him with fear and disgust and clenched his hands into fists. Walking down the hall the way LeGraine had gone, Samuel barely noticed when the light bulbs overhead exploded one by one as he passed beneath them, plunging him into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song that has been sung by Eric Clapton (among others).


	4. Strange Out Here

Dean opened the passenger door of the Impala for Samuel and the younger man easily slid into the seat. Walking around the car to the driver's side, Dean decided he didn't really want to see his father so soon. He decided that they could both use some time apart.

Buckling his seatbelt, Dean turned the key in the ignition and the Impala rumbled to life.

Looking at Samuel from the corner of his eye, Dean frowned.

The kid needs some new clothes at least; he can't keep wearing mine.

Samuel huddled in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

Dean tapped his hands on the steering wheel as he kept his eyes peeled for a clothing store.

He was a little concerned that he still didn't know where the teenager had come from. Sure, Samuel had mentioned some school but that was about as vague as it was possible to be.

You know he's scared to go back there, Dean told himself, now that's something.

He didn't want to start badgering the younger man though; Dean knew that the kid would shut down if he started.

Dean caught sight of a small Target store and pulled into the parking lot.

Samuel peered at him quizzically as he cut the engine.

"We're going to get you some clothes of your own," Dean explained and opened the car door.

Samuel looked down at the clothing he wore; Dean's hand-me-downs and was surprised that they were getting more clothes. Back at the school he had only one shirt and one pair of pants- the same as all the other children- and had often been told to be grateful for that.

He eagerly climbed from the passenger seat and followed Dean inside the building. Samuel was shocked at how big the Target store was- it was even bigger than the Biggerson's they'd eaten breakfast at.

"C'mon," Dean called and Samuel jogged to catch up to the older boy.

Dean chuckled at the wide-eyed look on the teen's face and suddenly felt sad.

He's never been to a restaurant or a department store, Dean thought, what kind of life has he been living?

"The School", State Unknown-1993

The ten year-old boy sat quietly on the low stone wall behind the farmhouse. Only his legs, kicking slightly against the rough rocks, moved. His green eyes stared out toward the forest beyond his perch. The early-morning air was warm and moist but the light yellow sun rising in the east promised a hot, dry day.

Holding his breath, Samuel smiled when the branches at the tree line rustled and a doe stepped into the meadow, her nose sniffing delicately for any scent of danger. The boy's legs froze and he leaned forward eagerly. The doe stepped forward and looked over her shoulder. A single fawn stumbled out from the forest, his gangly legs shaking excitedly.

"Samuel!" the barking voice shouted across the still morning, startling the child and the deer. The doe and her fawn bounded back into the forests and disappeared. The boy looked over his shoulder somewhat guiltily and slid down from the stone wall, brushing bits of moss and stone crumbs from his pants.

LeGraine was storming across the field, clearly angry.

"What the hell are you doing?" the man demanded as Samuel slowly approached him, knowing that he was in trouble.

Pointing toward the forest, the boy tried to explain, "I just wanted to see the deer."

Samuel smiled nervously up at the man. LeGraine hit the boy across the face, causing Samuel to stumble backwards.

Tears welled up in Samuel's eyes as LeGraine grabbed his arm and began dragging him back towards the house.

"What did I do wrong?" Samuel asked, his voice almost a wail.

"Shut up!" LeGraine snarled, raising his free hand threateningly.

The boy lowered his head, sniffing, trying to figure out what he'd done.

Every morning for the past several days, Samuel had watched from his bedroom window as the doe and her fawn slipped out from the forest to graze at the tender spring grass in the meadow. The animals were so calm and peaceful and the boy had just wanted to get a closer look at them. Waking up early that morning, Samuel had tiptoed out of the bedroom he shared with the other boys and out of the farmhouse. Creeping across the dewy grass, Samuel had made his way to the low stone wall before the meadow and sat down, waiting patiently for the deer to appear.

LeGraine pushed Samuel ahead of him, into the farmhouse. Truefold was standing in the narrow hallway, looking about as pleased as LeGraine did.

"Where was he?" the woman asked, not even looking at the boy.

"Edge of the property," LeGraine answered, preventing Samuel from slinking away by placing one hand on the boy's shoulder, "Because he wanted to see the deer."

Samuel lowered his gaze until he was staring at his feet. He didn't know why LeGraine and Truefold were so upset with him. He had only been outside for a half an hour at most and he still had been within sight of the house.

Truefold snorted in derision and LeGraine kicked at Samuel, "Get out of my sight."

The boy scurried down the hallway and turned into the kitchen, seeing the other children sitting at the table already.

"What did you do?" Ava snapped, brushing her long dark hair over her shoulder.

Samuel glanced up at the girl, defiance in his green eyes.

"I didn't do anything!" he nearly shouted, "I didn't do anything wrong!"

The other children just stared at him.

"You went outside without permission," Lillian, a blonde-haired girl piped up from beside Ava.

Samuel's shoulders slumped.

"You shouldn't have done that; you could have gotten us all into trouble," Ava continued, distain colouring her youthful voice.

The boy opened his mouth to say something else but then closed it again. He looked up guiltily at LeGraine as the man walked up behind him.

"Are you stupid or something?" Samuel lowered his gaze sadly.

"No sir," he mumbled. He could feel the eyes of the other children on him and that only made him feel more ashamed.

"We have rules for a reason! We're not fucking around here!" LeGraine snapped and hit Samuel across the face, sending him staggering back to hit the edge of the table.

The boy didn't know why the man was so mad at him; he hadn't been hurting anything.

"I'm sorry!" Samuel tried to apologize but that didn't placate the man.

LeGraine grabbed the boy's t-shirt and Samuel stumbled forward, falling onto his hands and knees.

"It's dangerous! What if someone saw you?" LeGraine snarled and yanked the boy forward.

"We are only trying to protect you," the man said quietly and Samuel gulped, staring into the man's eyes.

"It won't happen again," Samuel whimpered and cringed away from LeGraine.

"See that it doesn't," the man warned and released his hold on the child. Sniffing, Sam walked around the table and squeezed onto the end of the long wooden bench, beside Andrew.

Stalking over to the fridge, LeGraine removed a large glass pitcher of red liquid. Samuel grimaced; he hated the stuff, it tasted awful! All the children had to drink it though, LeGraine and Truefold said it helped their powers become stronger so they could use them for 'the greater good.' Stomping over to the light blue-painted cupboard, the man began taking down the plastic cups sitting inside.

"Are you okay?" Andrew whispered to Samuel, one arm wrapping around his friend's shoulders.

Samuel nodded and stared at the wooden tabletop. He jumped when one of the cups was slammed down in front of him, the red juice inside nearly sloshing over the rim.

Grabbing the cup resolutely, Samuel closed his eyes and drank as fast as he could. The juice was slightly thick and chilly from being in the refrigerator; its sweet flavour barely hid the foreign tang underneath. Once he finished, Samuel rested his arms on the tabletop, his face buried in the crook of his arm as he waited for the warmth, the rush of energy and strength that always accompanied the juice, to spread throughout his body.

Bangor, Maine-1999

Dean's fingers flicked skillfully through the assorted t-shirts hanging on the racks. Samuel stood close by, watching other shoppers paw through the piles of clothes on shelves or on hangers.

"How about this?" Dean asked and held up a red t-shirt- that featured a black skull and crossbones for the teen's approval.

Samuel shrugged. Dean stared at the shirt for a long moment.

"You're right," Dean hung the t-shirt back on its rack, "Too juvenile."

Samuel just looked at the older boy. He waited patiently as Dean walked over to a rack full of plain black t-shirts and held one out to Samuel.

Dean smiled and grabbed three more shirts off the rack. Draping them over one arm, he reached out and grabbed Samuel's wrist.

"C'mon," he said, "We're not finished yet."

W

By the time the two young men were standing in the checkout line, Dean had a sizable pile of clothes in his arms.

T-shirts and long-sleeved button downs, blue jeans and even a pair of khakis that Samuel had been eyeing surreptitiously. Dean also had a few pairs of boxers, a package of socks and a shoebox with brand new runners inside.

Dean smiled at the middle-aged woman at the cash register and dumped the clothes onto the conveyer belt.

"Find everything you needed?" she asked, as she scanned the items.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said and put an arm around Samuel's shoulder- although the boy tensed at the sudden touch- and grinned, "He's been growing like a weed, can't keep him in clothes."

The woman nodded and Dean paid with a fake credit card. She smiled as she packed their purchases into bag and bade the boys have a good day.

Dean hesitated when they reached the Impala. He knew he should really go back to the motel and help his Dad with the case but he really didn't want to if John was going to keep insisting they ditch Samuel.

Dumping the plastic bag of clothes into the backseat, Dean plopped down moodily into the driver's seat and glanced at the teenager as he climbed into the passenger side.

"You could use a haircut," Dean told Samuel and the boy's eyes went wide.

"Hey, hey," Dean said quickly, trying to do some damage control, "It's not what it sounds like; it doesn't hurt."

"Oh," Samuel muttered and blushed with embarrassment. He'd been shocked to learn that people could actually choose which clothes they wanted to wear and that it was more appropriate if the clothes fit well. Samuel thought about his old clothes, his oversized t-shirt and sweat pants that were far too short. Why had LeGraine and Truefold given him clothes that clearly weren't right for him? He had never worn shoes in his life before today- at least he couldn't recall ever wearing shoes- and although they felt a little confining at first, he'd grown used to them, starting to like them. The boots that Dean had given him protected his feet and kept them warm. Samuel wished he had something like them when he'd… before… at the school.

"Are you okay?" Dean's voice startled Samuel out of his reverie and the younger man nodded sheepishly.

"Look, you don't have to get a haircut if you don't want to," Dean began, "I just thought it might be a good idea… not many guys wear their hair long, you know."

Samuel smiled slightly, "No, I want to."

The older boy returned the smile and started the Impala, "Okay, let's go then!"

W

Dean couldn't believe his luck when he parallel-parked the classic Chevy in front of an unassuming barber's on the downtown strip. The shop had no name but it did have a faded green awning above the large plate-glass window and one of those old-fashioned red and white-striped poles beside the door.

Upon closer inspection, the young hunter caught sight of the single elderly man in the shop- probably the owner- and pushed the door open happily. A tiny bell tinkled, announcing their arrival. Samuel stood close to Dean- the barbershop was unlike anything he had ever seen before, not even in pictures- and he was a little nervous now, even though the older boy had insisted a haircut was painless.

"Ah, hello there!" the old man smiled and approached the two youngsters, wiping his hands on his black apron before holding one out to Dean and then Samuel.

"Hey, sorry to drop in," Dean said after taking the gent's offered hand, "Can you give my uh… friend here a haircut?"

Dean grimaced slightly; it wasn't really a matter of could the man- he was a barber, of course he could cut Samuel's hair- but more of a question of would he. Dean knew that he shouldn't be just walking in but he didn't really feel like booking an appointment and waiting. He wanted to show John that Samuel was more than some stray kid he'd picked up off the road, that he was an innocent, like the other people they helped and was worthy of their succor.

"I don't have anything until noon," the man said and grinned toothily, "Come with me, young man. I'll see what I can do."

SPN

John Winchester sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes before glancing down at the papers scattered over the motel room's small table.

He just didn't understand it. All the information that he had gathered on the case was right in front of him and yet he couldn't figure what the hell was going on. Young men were dying- drowning- at the manmade lake for no apparent reason.

John had even called Bobby Singer- more than once- but the veteran hunter was just as stumped as he was. With no sulfur or ectoplasm or signs of struggle this case was quickly growing cold. Despite the cooperation of local law enforcement, John was starting to think that maybe Bangor was just experiencing a rash of suicides with no supernatural connection whatsoever.

Closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, John wished that Dean was with him. He could really use his son's help, use his perspective on things.

John didn't quite know what to make of Samuel. Besides his mysterious 'school' the boy had apparently come from nowhere. Not being sure where his parents were and lacking any identification, the teen would make it extremely difficult for even the police to locate his relatives. Although John appreciated what Dean was doing for the boy, the fact was, it wasn't his son's job. They hunted monsters and saved people from supernatural threats, they didn't take on strange teenagers who didn't even know their last names.

John thought back to the night before, when Dean had first introduced him to Samuel. The boy certainly didn't look like he was just some moody, overemotional teen runaway. It was clear, even to the eldest Winchester that something very odd was going on with the young man.

Dean said he'd rushed out onto the road, John recalled. His clothes were dirty and mismatched, he didn't have any shoes on his feet and his hair was a rat's nest of knots and twigs and leaves. And he was thin, clearly not well-cared for, even if he wasn't on the run from anything supernatural.

Now if that doesn't sound suspicious, than you're losing your touch, John thought to himself.

"Damn it all," John muttered and stretched, his spine popping. He heard the familiar rumble of the Impala over the steady drone of the traffic outside and stood up, walking to the door of the room.

Dean pulled the classic Chevy into the parking space in front of his room and cut the engine. John could make out Samuel sitting in the passenger seat and gave a dry smile when he saw that the young teen's hair was cut short.

Stepping out of the doorway, John went to greet his son.

Dean reached into the backseat and pulled out a white plastic bag and stood up, meeting his father's eye.

"Hey," his son said guardedly but John didn't explode like he thought he might.

"What've you got there, son?" he asked instead.

John almost laughed when Dean's eyebrows rose in astonishment but he quickly cleared his throat.

"Bought Samuel some clothes of his own," Dean explained, "At least until we find his family."

John grimaced at the speedy additive and turned to the boy in question. Samuel looked completely different with short hair. The style was similar to Dean's expect it was only slightly longer. The lack of hair made it easier to see the boy's face and made his features appear even leaner than before.

"Are you boys hungry? We could go to the diner across the street?" John asked, directing the question at Dean.

"Maybe in a half-hour, Dad," he answered, "I want Samuel to try on his new clothes."

John shrugged, "Alright."

"Do you… ah, wanna come in?" Dean offered but John shook his head.

"Nah," he said, "I've got a lot of paperwork to organize. I'll see you in a little bit."

Dean hesitated, "Sure?"

John nodded again, "I'll see you in thirty minutes."

"Okay, c'mon," Dean reached out for the other boy's arm and Samuel followed Dean into the motel room.

John stared after the two young men for a moment.

You know, he thought, with his hair short like that, he almost looks like Sam.

Drawing in a sharp breath, John pinched the bridge of his nose and retreated to his own room, closing the door softly behind him.

SPN

Dean pulled all of the new clothes out of the bag and arranged them on the bed so they could see all of the garments.

"You pick," Dean said, "What do you wanna wear?"

Samuel pointed to a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Dean smiled and handed the clothes over. The younger boy looked over towards the bathroom, unsure of what to do. He had seen Dean go into the bathroom that morning and the night before he had been directed into it.

"Do you want to go into the washroom?" Dean asked and Samuel shrugged.

Pulling his hand-me-down shirt over his head, Samuel jumped when Dean gasped.

"Oh my God!" Dean stammered, shocked.

There was a small, thin white scar on Samuel's shoulder, exactly in the same spot where his baby brother had been cut when he'd been playing with a knife their father had forgotten to pack away.

Dean almost leaped forward, grabbing Samuel's arm and startling the young man.

"Where did you get that scar?" Dean demanded, ignoring the tears welling up in the boy's eyes.

"I've always had it!" Samuel cried and Dean released him. Sinking to his knees, Dean gulped, "I'm sorry… sorry… it's just… I had a brother and he had a scar that looked exactly like that."

Samuel stared down at Dean, breathing hard, trying to calm down.

"Wh-what happened to him?" he asked the older boy.

"What?" Oh, he was kidnapped… uh, taken… a long time ago," Dean explained, a lump forming in his throat as he recalled that humid summer night in Kentucky when his negligence had caused his little brother to be stolen away.

Dean stared up at Samuel, looking into the younger man's mossy green eyes, his gaze running over his now-short chestnut hair.

Sammy would be sixteen by now, Dean thought sadly. Samuel got down on his knees in front of Dean, "I don't know who I am… I don't know where I came from…"

"Can you…" Dean hesitated, knowing what he was about to ask was a touchy subject with the boy, "What can you tell me about the school you came from?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Screaming Trees song.


	5. So Strange, I Remember You

"The School", State Unknown- 1999

Samuel stared down at his breakfast of plain white toast and felt his stomach turn into a bundle of nerves- electrified snakes slithering around through his insides- and wasn't sure he'd be able to eat.

Mr. Lane was coming today.

Most of the other kids were excited, looking forward to showing off their powers.

Samuel wasn't the least bit happy about the man's pending visit. He was afraid every time the man's name was mentioned.

Samuel didn't know what was wrong with him. His powers didn't seem to work as easily as the other kids'. He couldn't really control them and he ended up getting in trouble a lot because of it.

Samuel picked up his piece of toast and began tearing it into bits. All he did was make a fool of himself. How was he supposed to help fight for 'the greater good' if he couldn't control his powers or even figure out what they were?

Most of the other kids had already found and were honing their own special talents under LeGraine and Truefold's tutelage. Max could move objects with his mind, Jacob had superior strength, Charlene could start fires at will, Lillian and Scott could kill with a touch.

And Samuel… well, he had fragmented, unintelligible nightmares that did nothing but scare him.

If he concentrated too hard on using his powers they just dry up and the wellspring refused to flow again until he was distracted or asleep, angry or sad or happy and then they seemed to flood his mind, drowning out everything else until they are quenched.

Samuel has hardly made any progress since Mr. Lane's last visit and that worried him. What if he can't control his powers? What will LeGraine and Truefold do to him if he keeps failing, disappointing them?

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Sam stared down at breadcrumbs scattered on his plate.

"Don't worry, Samuel," he looked up at the mocking sound in Jacob's voice, "I'm sure there's a use for you!"

"Yeah, you could be cannon fodder!" Ansen crowed, smirking, ignoring Andrew as his brother tried to slap a hand over his mouth and smother his words.

Samuel stood up suddenly, feeling his eyes prick with tears, and walked from the kitchen without looking back.

He heard the other kids laughing at him as he hurried down the hallway and out the front door, wrapping his arms around his middle as he stepped into the cool morning air.

What am I doing here? Samuel thought to himself as he crossed the large yard to the barn that stood beside the farmhouse. Why can't I be like the others?

Samuel slipped inside the old barn, breathing in the scents of dry straw, mouse droppings and weathered wood. Walking across the hard-packed floor, Samuel headed straight for the ladder that led up to the hayloft.

The wooden rungs of the whitewashed ladder creaked and groaned under Samuel's weight but they held and he climbs up, poking his head up through the square hole in the ceiling, eyes running over the piles of dusty, dried straw to make sure no raccoon has made itself a nest.

Seeing no disturbances, Samuel pulled himself up and crawled on his hands and knees to a large pile of straw- he was afraid of standing in case the floor gave out- before laying down. He burrowed into the straw and closed his eyes, trying to breathe steadily.

He tried not to think about how much of a disappointment he was, he tried not to count all the times he'd told LeGraine and Truefold that he would do better and then failed, he tried not to be jealous of Max and the others- secure in their abilities- and drifted into a restless slumber.

W

Low voices woke Samuel a short time later. He remained silent and still, listening and immediately recognized LeGraine's voice. Creeping to the edge of the hayloft, Samuel peered down at the two men talking in the barn, unaware of his presence.

Mr. Lane and LeGaine practically have their heads together, speaking secretively.

Samuel held his breath and tried to focus on the men, attempting to hear their muffled words.

"…start thinning the ranks," Mr. Lane informed LeGraine and the other man nodded his head sagely.

Samuel's brow furrowed in confusion; what are they talking about?

Leaning further over the edge of the hayloft, Samuel hoped that Mr. Lane would explain what he's talking about.

LeGraine began to list off names and Mr. Lane shook his head at all of them.

"They're all strong," he said, thoughtful, "Who else?"

Samuel leaned forward even further, angled slightly downwards and the smooth wooden edge of the hayloft slipped from his fingers and he fell, twisting as he went and landed hard on his back. Right in front of the two men.

Pain shot up and down the boy's back and he couldn't pull enough air into his lungs. His vision blurred and turned dark before coming back into focus.

"Samuel!" LeGraine snapped and the boy cringed away at the anger in his voice.

"I'm s-sorry," Samuel wheezed as he struggled to breathe normally.

Hands grabbed the collar of his t-shirt roughly and he was heaved to his feet. Samuel's head swam and he staggered- would surely have fallen- but LeGraine's hands kept him up.

Mr. Lane appeared in Samuel's line of vision and the boy flinched a little at the strange smirk on the man's lips.

Bangor, Maine- 1999

Dean's heart pounded in his chest as he stared eye-to-eye with Samuel. The younger boy didn't speak for a long time and Dean began to think he wasn't going to answer.

"I… "Samuel paused and his brow furrowed, clearly trying to figure out what exactly to say.

Samuel swallowed hard and closed his eyes, "I've been at the school for as long as I remember."

Dean nodded; he did not trust himself to speak. He just listened.

"I don't… I don't remember anything before," Samuel opened his eyes and Dean frowned at the tears pooling in their emerald depths.

"Nothing?" Dean asked, forgetting that he wasn't going to interrupt.

Samuel shook his head and bit his lip. He wasn't sure if he should tell the older boy about his parents- his mother- and how she had abandoned him.

Dean lowered his head and Samuel stared at the older boy's dirty-blond hair confusedly. Maybe he should tell Dean everything. He had already promised that they weren't going to send him back to the school.

SPN

John stared at his journal, the pages opened to an early entry- the date scrawled at the top of the page was 1987- that described a banshee case that had never been completed.

The eldest Winchester rubbed his temples- a headache beginning to form- and thought back to that horrible night in Kentucky; the second worst night of his life, when his little boy was kidnapped right from under his oldest son's nose. John closed his eyes as he envisioned the small, dumpy motel room he'd left his children in Bowling Green.

The hunter felt anger well up in his chest when he recalled Dean's negligence. Despite the fact that he had only been a child himself, Dean had known full-well what was out there and should have been using his head when he left the motel room to get a drink- hell, he could have just had a goddamn glass of water from the plastic cups the motel provided! But Dean had not been thinking about the threats, he had only been thinking about himself and hadn't realized he had smudged the salt line at the door- a seemingly trivial mistake- and had cost his brother dearly.

Tears swam in John's eyes as he thought of what fate had come to his youngest son. He had no idea what the demons intended to do with Sam but he knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be good. John remembered how he had badgered Bobby Singer into telling him whenever and wherever demonic omens occurred for months after the kidnapping, hoping that they would somehow be connected to the monsters who'd taken his son. Eventually, John realized that there was no way he was going to get his little boy back and had instead prayed that at least if Sam was dead, he hadn't suffered long.

John saw his eldest son in a different light from that night onward. He knew he'd never be able to forgive Dean for what he'd done. John stopped trusting Dean. Although John knew he was being unreasonable he couldn't help his feelings. John was aware that Dean took his brother's kidnapping hard and blamed himself but the eldest Winchester could have cared less. No amount of guilt on Dean's part was going to bring Sam back.

And now, with the appearance of this young man- Samuel- everything was being dredged up again.

John just didn't know what to think. Sure the boy's name was exactly the same as his own son's and it was true that they did bear a striking physical resemblance- dark brown hair and green eyes- but the eldest Winchester refused to get his hopes up. He wished that Dean would realize that Sammy was gone, just as Mary was, and accept it.

"The School", State Unknown- 1999

Samuel whimpered when LeGraine shook him angrily. He closed his eyes and tried to pry the man's hands from his shirt.

"What about him?" Samuel cringed at the man's words, "He can barely keep up with the other kids."

"No," Mr. Lane insisted and Samuel stared at the man.

LeGraine sneered, "Why not?"

The other man reached out and put his hand on Samuel's head, "He may surprise us yet."

"Fine," LeGraine sighed and shoved the boy in the direction of the bar doors, "Get out of here."

Samuel didn't have to be asked twice. He rushed out of the barn and into the bright midday sunlight. He trudged around the large red building and saw the other kids playing with a soccer ball in front of the farmhouse, Truefold watching from the sidelines, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

The teen approached the group and stood on the sidelines, watching the game. He shuddered in the warm air, recalling Mr. Lane's eerie smile and wished he knew what the two men had been talking about.

Bangor, Maine-1999

What could he say? Could he tell Dean all about the school? About LeGraine and Truefold? About Max and Ava and Jacob? About Andrew?

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Samuel decided to start with what he knew about his family.

"My mother left me at the school," he said quietly, picturing the woman in his head.

Dean frowned and Samuel was momentarily afraid he'd said something wrong, "But I thought you didn't remember anything?"

"I don't!" Samuel replied quickly, "But LeGraine told me about her."

The older boy's brows furrowed, "Who's LeGraine?"

The foreign, French-sounding name had an odd ring to it.

Samuel shrugged, "He takes care of us… him and Truefold."

Dean nodded as though he understood. So this LeGraine and Truefold ran some kind of orphanage, maybe?

"And the other kids? Did their parents abandon them as well?" Dean asked, because surely there were other children there, even if Samuel had never come out and said it.

"I… I guess so," the younger boy answered uncertainly, "They don't remember their parents either, if that's what you mean."

Dean frowned. None of the children at this so-called school recalled their lives before arriving there? That didn't make sense. Surely some of them would know about their parents, some of them might have been older than Samuel when they arrived, old enough to remember.

"Do you know why your Mom left you at the school? Did LeGraine ever tell you?" Dean asked and as soon as the words were out he knew he had struck a nerve.

Samuel sniffed and shook his head, ducking his chin down.

"No," he responded, sounding tired and Dean knew the younger teen was lying to him.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anymore answers for a while, Dean stood and stretched.

"Why don't you finish getting changed, okay?" he told Samuel in a kindly voice, hoping the younger boy would relax again.

"Where are you going?" Samuel asked, seeing Dean head toward the door.

"Oh, just next door. I wanna talk to my Dad for a moment," Dean explained casually and Samuel lowered his head.

"Hey," Dean spoke up quietly, "I'll be right back, okay?"

The younger boy nodded and watched as Dean slipped out the door.

SPN

Once outside, Dean wiped a hand over his face and leaned against the door for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

He was starting to think that Samuel really didn't have a family to go home to. If that was the case, he would fight his Dad tooth and nail to keep the young man from entering the system and becoming a ward of the state. People were more likely to take infants and toddlers in than teenagers and Dean didn't want to think about the next few years of Samuel's life as one long nightmare of foster homes. Sure, Dean knew there were honest, good, respectable people working with CPS but knowing the Winchester luck- and why shouldn't Samuel be affected by it? It seemed to rub off on everyone Dean and John met- the younger man would land in one bad situation after another.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Dean knocked on the door of his father's motel room.

John opened the door and Dean stared at his father. John's eyes were moist and slightly bloodshot, his expression weary.

"Where's Sam?" the eldest Winchester asked, his eyes peering past his son to the empty sidewalk behind him.

"Samuel," Dean corrected immediately and John looked sheepish, "Ah, yes, Samuel. Where's he?"

"In the room, changing into some new clothes," Dean answered in an offhand manner.

"Oh, yeah," John grumbled, "Did you want to talk to me or something?"

Dean grimaced and nodded. His father held the door open for him and Dean entered the room. He caught sight of his father's journal lying open on the table, catching the date at the top of the page and quickly looked away.

"I was talking to Samuel and I think he came from some sort of orphanage," Dean told his father. John raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

Dean nodded, "He said that as far as he knows, his parents just dumped on the doorstep and high-tailed it out of there."

John frowned. Although it wasn't unheard of for young women to leave their unwanted babies on the steps of hospitals, driving all the way to an orphanage seemed a little like overkill.

"So, he remembers that?" John asked his son but was disappointed when Dean shook his head.

"No, Samuel told me that LeGraine- I think he runs the orphanage- told him what his Mom had done," Dean answered.

John narrowed his eyes. Even he couldn't deny the fact that that sounded suspicious.

"Dad, if Samuel's parents really did abandon him, I don't think he'll have anyone to go to," Dean's voice startled his father from his thoughts.

"There has to be an aunt or something," John insisted but even as he said it he knew that was unlikely. If Samuel's parents had relatives- relatives who wanted him- surely they would have taken him in before the boy's mother had made her decision or else traveled to the orphanage and picked him up there.

"Dean, we both know that we can't bring Samuel along with us after this hunt," John said and his son nodded.

"I know that Dad but I am not letting CPS take him to foster care!" Dean exclaimed, "I don't care if he is only two years away from being a legal adult, I can't do that to him!"

John paused, allowing Dean to continue.

"He trusts me, Dad," Dean said, speaking more quietly than during his initial outburst, "Or as much as he can trust me. What do you think they'll do to him if he starts talking about that mysterious school of his?"

John bit his cheek.

"I agree with you," he said slowly, seeing Dean's face light up as he did so.

"Really?" he asked in disbelief.

John sighed, "I don't think it would be a good idea to hand him into the authorities, he might mention us and we can't let that happen."

Dean sagged somewhat. His Dad was thinking only about their safety and not Samuel's as he'd been hoping.

"We can take him to Bobby's," the decision surprised both Winchesters.

Before John could take it back though, he continued speaking, "Maybe Bobby can figure out more about this orphanage."

Dean nodded eagerly. There was certainly something off with Samuel's story- and it wasn't only the fact that the young man was not telling everything he knew- but Dean knew that if anyone could figure out what was going on, Bobby could. Besides, the older hunter might enjoy the company and it would help Samuel get used to being around other people.

"Thanks Dad," Dean said and John stared at his son; it had been a long time since his eldest son had actually said those words and meant them.

SPN

Samuel ran his hands down his new clothes. The black t-shirt was still a little long- its sleeves came down to his elbows- but he didn't mind. It felt so nice to have clean clothes on. The jeans reached all the way down to his feet and he smiled as he stared down at his feet.

He looked up when he suddenly remembered the shoes Dean had bought for him. Glancing around the room, Samuel realized that they were not there and thought they might still be in the car.

Opening the door, Samuel smiled when he caught sight of the long black car sitting in the parking spot, glinting in the midday sun.

Slipping out onto the sidewalk that ran along the length of the motel room, Samuel paused, suddenly feeling as though someone was watching him.

Staring around the parking lot, he didn't see anyone paying attention to him and the young man moved toward the classic car.

He placed his palm against the handle of the Impala and peered over his shoulder. Samuel shrugged and looked inside the car; he could see the brown shoebox sitting on the bench seat in the back.

The sound of footsteps quickly approaching startled Samuel off guard and he turned, face to face with LeGraine.

"Hello Samuel," the man said and grinned wolfishly.

The young man shrank against the car, hands over his head protectively.

"No! Please!" Samuel cried, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

"It's time to come home now," LeGraine continued, "Truefold and I have been very worried about you."

"I'm not going back! Leave me alone!" The boy shouted in desperation.

Samuel punched the air wildly when he felt a hand on his shoulder, "No! Let me go!"

"Samuel!" He looked up, startled when he only saw Dean Winchester.

The older boy was staring worriedly at him. John was standing on the edge of the sidewalk, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked and Samuel gave a shaky nod.

"We heard you shouting and thought something was wrong," the older boy explained as Samuel wiped his arm across his eyes.

"I thought I saw… never mind," the teen ducked his head in shame, "I just wanted my new shoes."

Dean peered into the Impala and saw that the shoes were in fact sitting on the seat.

"Okay," he said gently and released his hold on the younger man's shoulder. Unlocking the car door, Dean grabbed the shoebox and pulled it out, handing it over to Samuel.

John peered curiously at his son as Samuel walked past him and back into the motel room, eyes seemingly glued to the cardboard box in his hands.

Dean gave his father a helpless look, "I don't know."

The two Winchesters had rushed out of the motel room after hearing their young charge cry out in terror but when they saw him; Samuel was alone, pressed up against the Impala with his hands over his head as though fending off an attack.

"We'll have to keep an eye on him," John said, thoughtfully.

Dean nodded, "I'll go see if he's okay."

He left his father standing in the parking lot, wondering what the heck just happened.

John hoped it would be a good idea to take the young man to Bobby's.

SPN

Dean stifled a yawn and squinted at through the trees at the man-made lake. The rest of the day had gone well, had been uneventful really. He had tried to get Samuel to talk about what had frightened him so badly but the younger man pretended that the entire episode hadn't happened.

Dean decided to drop the issue. He didn't want to make the teen feel more uncomfortable than he already was and instead tentatively told Samuel about Bobby Singer.

The boy had been both curious and hesitant but Dean assured him that the grizzled old hunter was a good friend and kind man.

John had suggested going to the lake themselves and seeing if they could find anything suspicious. Dean hadn't argued with his father but he didn't much like the idea of trampling through the underbrush at the edge of a lake where young man around his own age had been found drowned.

Dean glanced at Samuel crouching beside him, a grim expression on his face. John had wanted the young man to stay at the motel room- not wanting to get the teen involved in their hunt- but Samuel had refused to be left alone. If Dean didn't know better, he'd think the kid was still nervous about what had scared him earlier that day.

Samuel took instructions well and silently followed Dean's lead as the Winchesters drove to the small parking lot that served the lake and then hiked down to the water's edge.

The night was slightly chilly and Dean cursed himself for not thinking to buy Samuel a jacket while they'd been shopping. He glanced at the younger boy and saw Samuel shift his shoulders nervously underneath the woolly blanket Dean had gotten from the trunk of the Impala.

Dean sat back on his heels and stared irritably at the EMF detector in his hand- it was dark and silent- before shoving it into his jacket pocket.

Maybe they all just drowned by themselves, Dean thought. It didn't seem likely but, hey, stranger things had happened.

Dean sighed and idly flipped open his wallet. He fished an old faded, crinkled photograph from one of the pockets and stared at it in the moonlight.

The picture showed a four-year old Dean holding his newborn baby brother with John and Mary smiling proudly behind them.

Dean's father had had it in his wallet for ages but hadn't noticed when his son had taken it. Dean was sure John had more family photos that he hadn't told him about.

From beside him, Dean heard Samuel give a startled squeak and the boy grabbed the photo from his hands.

"Hey!" Dean hissed, his demand that the boy give him the picture back dying on his lips when he saw Samuel's expression.

The teen had tears in his eyes and he seemed to have lost all the colour from his face. His hands shook violently, threatening to tear the paper.

"Hey, Samuel? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Dean asked quietly, eyes darting around their surroundings as though certain the mysterious monster would hear them and pounce.

Samuel sucked in a shaky breath, "That's… that's her…"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "That's my Mom. Her name's Mary."

"Mary," Samuel spoke the name slowly and reverently.

Dean's heart began to pound in his chest, "Samuel… what's going on?"

The younger boy looked up at him and a tear slipped down his cheek, "I think she's my mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Thrice song.  
> Charlene, is not one of the 'special children' from the show, but one of the main protagonists from Stephen King's novel, "Firestarter".


	6. You Tell Me All These Things

Bangor, Maine-1999

Samuel felt his mouth go dry as he stared at the beautiful blonde-haired woman in the photograph. The same woman he'd seen in his dreams, surrounded by flames.

He didn't even notice Dean staring at him like he was seeing a ghost.

"Are you… are you sure? I thought you said you didn't remember anything?" Dean asked, making the younger boy jump.

Looking sheepish, Samuel handed the photo back to the older boy, "I don't… not really. But I keep having this dream… I wasn't even sure it was real…"

Should he tell Dean? What if he thought he was some sort of freak? What if Dean and his father took him back to the school?

"You can tell me," the older boy wheedled.

I can tell him about the dream, Samuel decided, but that's it.

"I kept seeing a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes," Samuel admitted quietly. His heart began to pound in his chest and his palms grew damp with sweat as he recalled asking LeGraine about the mysterious dream woman.

"I'd always see her face… just her face and she'd be smiling," Samuel whispered. Was this woman, whom Dean had called Mary, really his mother? If she was, did that mean that she hadn't abandoned him? Dean had said his brother had been kidnapped years ago…

"And then there was fire… everywhere," Samuel shuddered at the memory, "She stopped smiling."

Glancing at Dean from the corner of his eye, he saw the older boy wasn't looking at him; he was staring at the photograph in his hand.

"My Mom died a few months after this picture was taken," Dean said, his voice tight with pain, "In a fire."

Samuel's eyes widened. This couldn't be true! This couldn't be happening!

The younger teen shook his head. No, this wasn't right. It was a coincidence, his mother had abandoned him.

Dean grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and hit the Speed Dial number for his father.

"Dad! No, I haven't found the monster… Listen, we have to go back to the motel now. It's Samuel-" Dean paused and the younger boy looked at him, "Dad, you're really going to want to hear this."

"C'mon," Dean grabbed the teen's arm and yanked him up into a standing position. Samuel didn't resist, afraid that the older boy would be angry with him if he refused to go.

Samuel allowed Dean to drag him back to where he had parked the Impala and clambered into the passenger seat while the older boy settled behind the wheel.

The teen sat with his hands together in his lap, nervous about what was to come. He wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Samuel tried to sort out all his thoughts, tried to control his emotions as Dean drove back to the motel room.

Was this Mary woman really his mother? Why would LeGraine and Truefold lie to him about her? Maybe Dean was lying. Maybe Dean and John were going to take him back to the school now that he knew their secret. What was it like to have a family, like Dean had? What kind of person had Mary been? Had she loved him? Why had she died?

Samuel gasped when the Impala stopped suddenly- were they at the motel already- and peered out the windshield.

The young man's mouth opened in shock. There was a man standing right in the classic Chevy's path, his features hidden by shadows.

"Shit," Dean growled from the driver's side and rolled down the car window, "Hey! Buddy! Get out of the road! You wanna get killed?"

Samuel stared at the man. Why was he just standing there?

The boy startled when Dean suddenly turned on the Impala's high beams and the man's face was illuminated.

LeGraine!

Samuel didn't know what to do. Should he run? Would the man catch up with him? Could he just leave Dean?

Before the young man could make a decision, LeGraine disappeared. Just vanished into thin air as though he'd never been there.

Samuel heard Dean swear and the car jerked forward, rolling once again towards their destination.

Had he just imagined it, like before? Maybe, but Dean had seen LeGraine this time, hadn't he?

Samuel shivered and wrapped his arms around his middle. He felt sick and scared. Was LeGraine going to take him back to the school? What was going to happen to him? Were they going to do to him what they had done to Andrew?

"The School", State Unknown – 1999

The boy's heart pounded frantically in his chest as he ran. Resisting the urge to look back, he stared straight ahead at the small copse of trees that was his destination.

Grimacing in pain as his bare feet crunched the dry, prickly grass or stepped on an unseen rock, the boy refused to stop.

He had to keep going. He had to get as far away as he possibly could.

The boy hit the copse of trees and slipped past gnarly branches and rough trunks, ignoring leafy fingers snagging on his hair and clothes. Pinecones and leaf litter crunched underfoot loudly and the boy held his breath, ears straining for the sounds of pursuit.

Panting and exhausted, the boy finally rested. His feet were cut and bleeding and his lungs ached with exertion. Sweat ran down the boy's face and back in rivulets. Leaning his brow against the papery bark of a birch tree, the boy took a few moments to catch his breath.

He couldn't stop. No here. Not now. He was still too close.

Straightening up, the boy brushed his sweat-soaked bangs off his forehead with his arm and lurched forward.

He was scared, there was no denying that. He was scared of what lay before him, unknown. But he was more frightened of what lay behind him, of what he'd escaped.

In a matter of moments his world had been turned upside down and everything he'd once known was now filled with uncertainty.

The only thing the boy knew for sure was that he was never going back.

Gathering up his strength, Samuel pushed onward, brushing branches out of his way as he trudged determinedly onward, the taste of freedom pulling him forward.

Bangor, Maine-1999

To say that John Winchester was upset that his son was calling him away from a frustrating hunt would be an understatement. John was livid. The father knew keeping that kid was a bad idea! Why hadn't he gone with his gut, his first instinct and dropped the teen off at the local police station and let them deal with him?

This was fucking ridiculous! Unacceptable!

That's it, John thought as he ground his teeth, his hands tight on the truck's steering wheel, first thing in the morning that kid is outta here!

He pulled up sharply beside the Impala- had Dean raced here- and stepped out of the vehicle. Stalking to the door of his son's motel room, John rapped his knuckles sharply against the painted wood.

The door opened within seconds and John barged in, "You better have an airtight reason for dragging me away from this hunt!"

He glanced from his son standing in front of him with a shell-shocked expression on his face to Samuel sitting on the end of one of the beds, a puzzled expression on his.

"It's Sammy," Dean said quietly.

"What?" John snapped, "I don't have time for this, Dean."

His son took a breath and grabbed his father's arm before John could leave, "Dad, I think Samuel is Sammy. Our Sammy."

John hesitated, "What are you talking about?"

"It makes sense, Dad," Dean said and now John could hear excitement in his voice, "Sammy was kidnapped but we never found a body or any evidence that he was dead."

John didn't know what to say so, for once, he shut up and let Dean talk.

"If the demons had wanted to kill Sammy they could have… hell, they could have waited until I got back into the room and got me as well," Dean began speaking faster and faster in his determination to tell John everything.

"So, Sammy's missing for years and we don't know if he's alive or dead and then Samuel shows up out of nowhere," Dean stepped over to the teen and tugged him up, nearly dragging him forward as he walked back to John.

The eldest Winchester could see that the kid was confused and scared. He didn't really blame him.

"And… it fits," Dean insisted, "It really does! Sammy had dark brown hair and green eyes and so does Samuel!"

"Dean, calm down," John cautioned.

Dean ignored him, "Samuel has the same scar on his shoulder! The same scar Sammy got after he accidently cut himself with that knife!"

Coincidence, this could all be explained away as coincidence. Sammy was dead. The demons had taken him and killed him.

"Dad," Dean said, "He remembers Mom… he remembers her. Tell him!"

Samuel lowered his gaze to the floor, wringing his hands nervously but he didn't utter a peep.

"C'mon, tell Dad what you told me," Dean pressed and shook the boy's arm a little.

Samuel didn't look up, "My parents abandoned me. They didn't love me."

Dean growled in frustration and grabbed the boy by his shoulders, shaking him.

"Tell Dad what you said about Mom! Tell him about that dream!" Dean almost shouted and John stepped forward, pulling his son away from the teen.

"That's enough!" he snapped and Dean sighed, looking chagrinned.

"I don't want to hear anymore about this," John demanded, "Your brother is dead, Dean."

"But-" Dean tried but John continued, "In the morning I am going to drive Samuel to the police station and they can take him back to wherever he came from."

"No, Dad-" his son began but John glared warningly at him, "And stop harassing that boy!"

Turning around John left the room without another word. He closed the door softly and leaned against the brick wall dividing their two rooms.

Raking a hand through his hair, John closed his eyes.

Everything had been fine until that kid showed up. Dean hadn't spoken of his brother in years, ever since the trail had grown cold a few weeks after the abduction and now he was all riled up again for no good reason.

Tomorrow he would get rid of the kid and they wouldn't talk about this again. It was for the best; for Dean, for the boy.

Unlocking his own door, John stepped into his silent motel room and flicked on the light. He stared at his notes and newspaper clippings scattered around the table and on both of the beds and rubbed at his bristly chin for a moment, indecisive on what to do.

Gathering up the papers on the table, John deposited them on the bed and sat down, taking his journal out of his duffel as he did so.

He thumbed through the pages until he reached the unfinished entry of 1987 and stared at it for a long time.

W

John lifted his head drowsily. He looked down at the open journal he'd been using as a pillow and closed it. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Checking the alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds, John saw that it was still early.

Shucking off his shoes, the eldest Winchester decided that if he was going to sleep he should do so in a bed rather than at the uncomfortable table.

John tugged at his flannel button-down, pulling it over his head so he only had an old grey t-shirt on underneath and jumped when his gaze came to rest upon the woman standing in front of him.

She has long golden, curly hair, deep blue eyes, and a friendly heart-shaped face. She wore nothing but a long white nightgown, the same she had died in.

"M-Mary?" John asked, stunned.

She smiled and raised a hand to his face. Her hand was cool against his skin but not unpleasantly so.

"What are you doing here?" he asked because that was the only thing that came to his mind.

"I cannot stay long," Mary said; her voice soft and exactly as John remembered it, "So I need you to listen to me very carefully."

John nodded dumbly.

"That boy in the other room is our son," she said, "You know it. Deep down. You knew as soon as you saw him."

Tears welled up in the man's eyes, "But… Sammy's dead… the demons… they took him…"

"Samuel is our baby boy," Mary insisted, a small vertical line appearing between her eyes- similar to the one Dean got whenever he was frustrated- but then smiled, "You know he is."

"Why?" John asked, "Why did the demons take him, Mary? He was only a little boy."

His wife did not answer; she lowered her hand from his face.

"Wait! Mary! Don't go!" John called as his wife backed away from him.

"Take care of our boys, John," she said in farewell, "Both of them."

W

John's head snapped up and he nearly toppled his chair as he turned around to catch a glimpse of his wife… but, nothing. He was alone in the room.

Wiping a hand down his face, John groaned and tried to recall the dream.

Mary had told him that Samuel was indeed their little boy. John didn't know what to believe, he had been dreaming after all. It wasn't as though he'd never dreamed about his wife before- he had- but normally they were mostly memories and this had been… different.

Peering over his shoulder, John's eyes widened when he read the time; it was one o'clock in the morning!

John jumped when a frantic knocking sounded on the door to his room.

Standing up quickly, John opened the door to see Dean standing there, an anxious and guilty expression plastered all over his face.

"Dad!" he exclaimed before John could say anything, "Its Samuel- he's gone!"

SPN

Samuel stared warily at Dean.

He retreated further into the room, away from the older boy.

"Samuel," Dean said, trying to keep calm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

The teen didn't answer. Dean scared him.

"I'm sorry," the older boy insisted, "I just… It all fits… I see it… Dad just… he' can be stubborn sometimes…"

Samuel shook his head, "You keep saying that I'm your brother but I don't believe you."

Dean frowned, "I know it's difficult to understand… you probably don't remember but I do. I know-"

"No! You're not my brother! You're not my family!" Samuel shouted. I should never have stayed here, he realized, I should have left as soon as they took their eyes off me, like back did at the school.

"Sam," Dean stepped forward, "Sammy-"

"Don't call me that! My name's Samuel!" he demanded.

The lamp in the room flickered and Dean jumped, startled.

"Please… just listen to me!" Dean begged but Samuel just shook his head. He was tired of hearing lies. First it was LeGraine and Truefold and now this boy who'd been so incredibly kind to him.

"Don't talk to me anymore!" Samuel told Dean, "You're a liar! Just like everyone else!"

Dean opened his mouth to respond but then closed it.

"Fine," he bristled angrily, "I'm trying to help you kid but if you don't want me to, by all means. Dad can take you to the police station tomorrow morning and you can tell them whatever the hell you want."

Dean turned away from the boy, walking to the door and making sure it was locked securely before grabbed his duffel and heading into the bathroom.

Samuel stayed where he was for a long moment. He glanced at the motel door. He could just walk out now but he wasn't sure if Dean or his father would come after him. No, he decided that he would wait until the older boy was sleep and then slip out. He'd be quiet enough, he'd had a lot of practice moving silently back at the school he didn't think the older boy would hear him.

Without changing his clothes or removing his shoes, Samuel lay down in his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, closing his eyes and feigning sleep. He listened to the shower as it turned on and turned off, the gurgle of water from the sink and the quiet roar of the toilet flushing before Dean entered the bedroom again. The darkness behind Samuel's eyelids grew even darker when the light was turned off and he heard the creak and squeak of old springs as the younger Winchester settled into bed.

W

Dean's breathing was slow and steady- he was deeply asleep.

Samuel sits up quietly in bed and looks at the alarm clock on the nightstand between them. It is very early morning- the sky has barely lightened in the east- but suddenly Samuel was not tired at all.

He's done this before. It's easy. Slipping silently from the bed, he creeps towards the motel room door. Holding his breath, his moves his hands down the side of the wooden door until he feels the cool metal of the chain lock beneath his fingers.

Slowly, Samuel slides the lock out of place, careful not to drop it so the small circle of metal at the end won't bang against the door.

Samuel pauses for a moment, listening to the other boy's breathing before continuing. He turns the lock right above the doorknob, eliciting a quiet screech from the unoiled metal.

The teen bites his lip and closes his eyes for a moment, expecting Dean to wake at any second. By some miracle the hunter stays unconscious and Samuel slowly, carefully opens the door. An orange triangle of light appears on the motel room's dingy carpet but it does not reach the beds and Dean remains in shadow.

Samuel steps out onto the threshold, glancing over his shoulder. He would have liked to bring his new clothes with him but decides he should bring nothing but what he is already wearing.

Closing the door as quietly as possible, Samuel turns to stare at the parking lot. He doesn't know where he should go. Which direction? Should he try and find the spot where Dean picked him up?

I can't go into town, Samuel thought. He shouldn't go where people might see him and question why he was out so late- or early- so he trotted off towards the wooded area across from the motel.

Grateful for his new shoes, Samuel stepped confidently into the forest, twigs and pinecones crunching under his protected feet.

He had no idea where he was going. He didn't care. As far away from other people- 'normal' people- was fine by him.

W

The mournful hooting of an owl startled Samuel and he jumped, pressing his back against the trunk of a tall pine tree.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking for- hours it seemed like- but he knew it had to be a good while. His knees were sore and he was cold, it was a little easier to see now and the stars were fading from the sky.

Samuel shivered and looked around. All he could see were trees. He didn't know if he had been walking in a straight line or if he was just going in circles.

What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?

A sob escaped from the teen and he blinked tears away from his eyes.

Maybe he should have stayed with the Winchesters, maybe he should have told John about the woman in his dream, showed him the scar that Dean claimed mirrored the one his younger brother had. Maybe Samuel should have told them the truth about the school and why he had been there.

What if Dean had been right? What if Mary really was his mother? What if he'd just abandoned the only real family he had?

Wiping his arm across his eyes, Samuel decided that he would rather take his chances with the Winchesters than out in the forest. He knew he couldn't stay in the woods, avoiding people indefinitely, and at least the two hunters would listen to him, not send him straight to the police.

Turning around, Samuel began to tentatively retrace his steps, telling himself the entire time that he was doing the right thing.

His heart suddenly felt lighter and he even smiled a little bit. So, distracted, he never noticed that someone very familiar was watching him through the trees.

SPN

John just stared at his son, still dazed from his strange dream, "What do you mean he's gone?"

Dean almost rolled his eyes, "I mean, he's not here. He's vanished into thin air. I can't find him anywhere!"

"He didn't just go for a walk?" John asked and Dean narrowed his eyes at his father.

"Are you okay? You're really pale?"

"Huh? Oh, uh… I didn't sleep too well," John muttered and ran a hand over his face.

Dean didn't look convinced.

"Where you thinking about him?"

"Who? That kid? No," John said and shook his head. Dean was growing impatient, moving from one foot to the other.

"Okay, but that still doesn't help us find him," he rapped out, frustrated.

John hesitated, hearing Mary's words in his head again.

Samuel is our baby boy… You know he is.

"Alright," John said slowly, "Did you see if he left any tracks?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Let's take a look around the building and see if we can't find a trail," John told his son, speaking as he usually did when on a hunt; decisively and confidently.

Dean's eyes widened slightly but he just nodded and jogged out into the parking lot, taking a small pen light from his jacket pocket to illuminate the pavement beneath his feet.

W

John walked around the side of the motel, no so much searching for signs of where Samuel might have gone, as mulling over his dream.

It had been so real that he didn't know what to think.

Maybe… just maybe…

No, John thought, that's impossible. Mary was dead and buried; she had been for nearly seventeen years now. Although John Winchester was the last person to appear an unbeliever- he dealt with supernatural crap on an almost daily basis- he could not believe that the deceased reached out to loved ones from beyond the grave… at least not like that.

John closed his eyes and he saw his wife standing before him. Her expression trouble yet beautiful all the same, her sapphire eyes filled with love and kindness, her golden hair looked as soft as he remember it, her skin a lovely ivory… every physical feature so perfectly rendered by his unconscious as it never had been before.

John raised his hand to his face, still feeling Mary's cool palm against his cheek.

"Damn it all," he muttered, "Why now, Mary? Why not twelve years ago when Sam was missing and Dean and I needed your guidance instead of a bunch of dead ends?"

The eldest Winchester didn't get an answer; not that he'd been expecting one anyway, and sighed tiredly.

His wife must be so disappointed in him. He had his son, his Sammy, right there and he'd scared him away.

John smiled as he thought of a Mary's response whenever they had had an argument. He'd ask what he could do to make it up to her and his wife would give a little smile and tell John that he could start with giving her a hug.

John knew that a hug wasn't going to make up for what had happened but it was a start.

SPN

Dean swore out loud as he searched- apparently in vain- for some clue as to where the young man could have gone.

It was his fault that Sammy had been kidnapped all those years ago and now it was his fault that Samuel had run away.

The parking lot pavement was not a good medium for leaving tracks so Dean moved towards the edge, where the forest beyond was separated from man by a ribbon of green turf.

Shining his penlight close to the ground, Dean smiled triumphantly when he caught sight of the distinct markings of shoes in the soft grass.

"Dad!" he shouted as loud as he could and John came running from around the side of the motel, "What'd you find?"

Dean gestured with the light to the trampled grass as his father approached, "I think he went for a little hike."

John clapped a calloused hand his son's shoulder but didn't say anything. Dean felt proud nonetheless for his father's silent praise.

Carefully, the two Winchesters followed the trail into the forest, their sharp eyes seeking out broken branches, scuffed bark and disturbed leaf litter.

W

They had been walking for close to two hours and the forest was showing no signs of thinning. The sky was now pink and orange in the east and clearly illuminated the way Samuel had gone.

The father and son did not speak much, only raising a voice to point out another clue or piece of evidence: "He must have leaned against that tree to rest" or "Why did he crawl over that log? He could have avoided it."

Dean was wondering if they were simply going to continue following Samuel's endless trail when he suddenly held his arm out, stopping John from walking any farther.

"Dad! Look!" he pointed to the ground in front of them- it showed signs of a struggle- leaves and dirt had been churned up, a small hawthorn bush was sporting fresh broken branches and there was a dark red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood on the trunk of a nearby birch tree.

John moved around his son and scrutinized the area, eyes taking in everything.

"He was coming back this way when he was attacked," the eldest Winchester said matter-of-factly.

"Attacked? By what? An animal?" Dean asked. He wasn't sure but he thought that only animal large enough to attack a human was a black bear.

John shook his head, "There's no tracks leading to this spot except for Samuels… you see?"

Dean followed his father's gaze and indeed saw only the teen's footprint.

"What happened?" he asked out loud, confused.

John ran his hands through his hair for a moment and walked around the area, trying to get a better idea of what happened. Hell, he even looked to the trees, knowing that sometimes Wendigos took their prey into the branches so they could eat in peace without being disturbed by other predators.

"It's like he was fighting with whatever grabbed him and then just vanished," Dean muttered.

John crouched down and examined the second set of tracks- only found inside the area where the struggle had occurred- and brushed a hand over some of the dry, crumbly leaves.

Standing, John made to wipe his hands off but paused, turning his hand over so he could see his palm and frowned. A very faint, yellowish dust coated the tips of his fingers where he'd touched the leaves.

Dean watched as John raised his hand to his face and breathed in through his nose.

Meeting Dean's gaze, John spoke one word that turned his son's blood cold, "Sulfur."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Screaming Trees song.


	7. Lightning Strikes Twice

"The school", State Unknown-1999

Samuel heard familiar voices around him as he slowly drifted up towards consciousness

"… believe LeGraine found him…"

"The nerve…."

"…punish him…"

"Why would he…"

Samuel's eyes slid open, his vision blurred and unfocused at first.

"Hey! He's waking up!" a voice cried and Samuel gasped as someone grabbed his hair and pulled his head up.

The boy squinted at his tormentor and gasped when Ansen's face came into focus.

"Samuel," he sneered and shoved the teen's head back roughly against the wall, "Welcome back."

"A-Ansen, let me go," Samuel exclaimed, lifting his hands to fend off the other boy but stopped when he saw that there were shackles around his wrists.

"Why'd you leave us?" Charlene asked, her expression mournful.

Samuel stared at the children surrounding him; Ansen and Charlene, Ava, Jacob, Max, Ian, Brianne and Lucas. Not all of them, but those that Samuel knew best.

"Where's Scott and Lilian?" Samuel asked, fear tingling in his belly.

"They weren't strong enough," Ansen scoffed, "Answer the question!"

Samuel cried out when the other boy punched him in the chest.

"L-LeGraine is evil!" Samuel exclaimed as he tried to catch his breath, "He killed Andrew."

"Liar!" Ansen snapped and punched Samuel again.

Wincing in pain, Samuel shook his head, "I'm… not lying. I saw it. LeGraine killed him, Ansen."

"But LeGraine said they were sent away," Brianne argued, her expression unsure.

The other children nodded in agreement, "They weren't strong enough so LeGraine so Truefold sent them to live with new families."

Samuel shook his head, "You really believe that?"

"We have to," Max said but he didn't look like he did.

Samuel stared at Ansen, "You're brother's dead and you don't care."

The other boy punched him in the face, splitting his lip.

"That's enough!" a male voice called out and Ansen released Samuel. The boy wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and watched as LeGraine stepped forwards, the children moving out of his way like a parting sea.

"You thought you could escape?" the man asked, his eyes flashing entirely black for a second, so quickly that Samuel wasn't sure he'd actually seen it happen, that he thought it was a trick of the light.

"Why did you kill Andrew?" Samuel asked through his rapidly swelling mouth.

"You're mistaken," LeGraine said sadly, "I took him to a new family. His powers were not strong enough to help fight for the greater good and he would have been unhappy here. He is in a better place now."

"I saw you kill him! I watched you!" Samuel cried out, "He didn't do anything and you murdered him!"

LeGraine frowned, "That's quite enough out of you."

Samuel cringed back when the man bent down and grabbed his throat. The boy raised his shackled hands, trying to pry LeGraine's hands away from his neck.

The man only released the boy when Samuel's eyes rolled up into his head and he went limp in his grasp.

Standing up again, LeGraine turned away from the unconscious child and stared at the small group behind him.

"What's going to happen to him?" Jacob asked, curious. This was the first time any of the children had left the school and he was sure that Samuel was going to be punished severely.

"I will have to talk to him," LeGraine said, "Make sure he hasn't told anyone about this place."

Jacob frowned, that didn't seem like much. He'd been beaten for much less than that.

LeGraine smiled, "You've never had a chance to really use your powers on a person, have you?"

Jacob and the others shook their heads. They were not allowed to use their powers against each other, only inanimate objects because they were not sure if the powers would be deadly.

"After I finish speaking with Samuel," LeGraine said, "You can test out your powers for the first time on a person."

Mr. Lane- Azazel to LeGraine and Truefold- had said that Samuel would surprise them and indeed he had, though not the way they had expected. LeGraine didn't care if Azazel liked Samuel, the boy was trouble. For all they knew, a battalion of hunters were on their way to the farmhouse right now, ready to exorcise them.

Although LeGraine would have preferred to snap the boy's neck right then and there, he wanted to teach Samuel a lesson that would last a long time.

W

Samuel coughed weakly and opened his eyes. He startled at the sight of LeGraine crouching before him.

The boy shoved himself into a sitting position and gulped, his throat throbbing with pain as he swallowed.

"What did you tell them?" the man asked.

"Who?" Samuel asked; his voice scratchy and hoarse.

"Don't play dumb with me, boy!" LeGraine snapped, "The Winchesters! How much did you say?"

"I didn't tell them anything," Samuel answered. He looked around himself and saw that he was in the cellar of the basement, where disobedient children were often locked as punishment.

LeGraine stared at Samuel as though trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not.

"You didn't hurt them, did you?" the boy asked. He didn't know if LeGraine would harm Dean or his father but he already knew that he would kill without so much as blinking an eye.

LeGraine smiled, "They're alive for now. But how long they remain alive depends on what you told them."

"I didn't say anything," Samuel repeated, "They don't know anything." He hoped that LeGraine believed him. He didn't want to be responsible for the Winchesters' deaths. He already felt guilty enough for Andrew's murder.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

"No," LeGraine said, "Lucky for you, I believe you're telling the truth."

Samuel slumped with relief. He wondered if LeGraine was just going to beat him for running away.

The man leaned forward and fiddled with the collar of Samuel's t-shirt for a moment, "Such nice new clothes. It's a shame they'll get blood on them."

Bangor, Maine-1999

"I think you're right, Dean," John confessed as they headed back towards the motel through the forest.

"About what?" his son asked, confused.

"About Samuel," John said, "I think he is Sammy. Really."

Dean's eyebrows rose in shock, "What made you change your mind?"

Not wanting to tell Dean about the strange dream, John simply said, "I thought about what you said and I think you're right. It all fits."

Dean let out a breath. Sammy. Having John believe it as well somehow made everything even more real. His father didn't think he was just trying to find some sort of surrogate for his lost baby brother.

Dean clenched his hands into fists. Demons again! What the hell did they want with Sammy?

They had to find him. They just had to!

But memories of Sam's first kidnapping made Dean's heart ache and a lump form in his throat; the fruitless months of searching before John finally took Dean to one side and explained that his baby brother- his four-year old brother- was almost certainly dead and that there was no use in looking for him anymore.

Dean shook his head to try and dislodge the horrible recollection. If Sam had managed to escape the demons once he could do it again.

Besides, now John was sure that his youngest was alive he would stop at nothing to get him back.

"We'll go to Bobby's," John said from behind Dean, planning out loud, "Track demon signs and get Sam back."

Dean didn't say anything; John might not have realized it but they were repeating the actions of the past- the long, silent drive to Sioux Falls and the months of searching- and something told the younger man that the outcome would be exactly the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Iron Maiden song.


	8. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter does contain some violence but it is not overly graphic and I did not see a reason to add an archive warning.

"The School", State Unknown-1999

Samuel struggled in vain to slip his hands through the shackles clamped around his wrists. LeGraine's threat turned the boy's stomach to ice and he knew he had to get away. Closing his eyes, Samuel bit down a sob of frustration bubbling up in his chest. If ever there was a time that he needed his powers to work, it was now. Unfortunately, they remained dormant and try as he might, the teen could not tap into them.

There was one small window in the cellar- long coated with dust and cobwebs- but it was far too small for the boy to crawl through even if he did manage to get the shackles off. The door- at the top of a rickety flight of wooden steps- was almost certainly locked.

Samuel glanced around the dirt floor of the cellar, searching in the near-darkness for something he could use as a weapon. The ground was devoid of any object.

He didn't know how long he had but Samuel was sure LeGraine would waste no time in punishing him for running away.

W

Samuel's head shot up when he heard the cellar door open and soft footsteps followed. He squinted in the dark room and gulped, hoping that it wasn't LeGraine.

Brianne's head of curly red hair appeared instead and the boy relaxed slightly. The girl stepped forward slowly, cautiously. Brianne crouched down in front of Samuel and stared at him wide-eyed for a moment.

"Why would LeGraine kill Andrew?" she asked quietly.

Samuel shook his head, "I don't know."

"That's why you ran away," Brianne said. It wasn't really a question so Samuel just nodded.

"LeGraine and Truefold… they're not good people, Brianne… I'm not sure they even are people," Samuel muttered and fidgeted, pressing his back against the rough stone wall.

"LeGraine is really mad," Brinane said and twirled a lock of hair around her index finger nervously. She was pale and thin, her oversized clothes making her look even more waif-like, "I don't think I've ever seen him so angry."

"Brianne-" Samuel tried to ask a question of his own but the girl interrupted him.

"Why don't your powers work like ours?"

"I don't know," Samuel admitted, "I wish they would."

The girl moved forward and reached out, her fingers touching the cold metal of the shackles around Samuel's wrists.

"What's going to happen to me?" he asked, feeling fear tingle up his spine.

"What did you mean when you said LeGraine and Truefold might not be people?"

"I… there's something not right about them… about us…" Samuel began, "While I was gone… I saw a picture of my mother… the mother who they said abandoned me."

Brianne gave Samuel an incredulous look but continued tracing the shackles idly with her fingers.

"I was told she died in a fire when I was just a baby," he continued, "She didn't leave me here."

"So?"

Samuel gritted his teeth in frustration, "I was kidnapped! Taken away from my family! I think we were all stolen away by LeGraine and Truefold!"

Brianne shrugged, "Maybe LeGraine and Truefold had a good reason for doing it. We have powers, right? Maybe other people don't like that-"

"Are you even listening to yourself!" Samuel snapped and Brianne flinched away from him, backing up.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, quieter, calmer, "Why aren't we allowed to talk about our parents?"

"Those kind of thoughts distract us from preparing ourselves for the battle for the greater good," Brianne rattled off as though reading from a script.

"Brianne… the people I met… they didn't know anything about my power," Samuel tried again, "They didn't mention anything about other people having powers either."

The red-headed girl listened, though she was clearly trying hard not to believe the boy.

"Don't you ever wonder what your mother and father were like?" Samuel asked, knowing that, even if they never told anyone, all of the other children had thought and dreamt about their parents at one time or another.

Brianne's blue eyes grew distant for a moment, as though she were imagining the face of her mother, "I do."

Samuel smiled grimly, "Help me out of here, please. Escape with me. The people I met, they can help you find your parents, I know they can."

The girl's expression turned to one of longing and awe. She reached towards Samuel again but then froze.

"I… I can't," she stammered, backing further away.

"Please! They'll protect us! We can't stay here!"

"I'm sorry," Brianne mumbled and stumbled up the stairs.

Samuel had been so engaged with the red-haired girl that he hadn't even noticed the cellar door had opened and Ansen and the others were coming down; Brianne shoving past them as she ran up the stairs.

Samuel sighed shakily and his head shot up when he heard someone snigger.

"First you run away and then you make Brianne cry," Ava's husky voice chastised from where she stood at Ansen's side, "You're on quite the roll, Samuel."

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to sound brave but his heart was beginning to pound in fear.

"You shouldn't lie about my brother," Ansen said, "I don't like it."

Tears burned against Samuel's eyes, "I wasn't lying. He might have been your brother but he was my frien-"

The boy's words were cut off as he began to choke, his already abused throat throbbing in agony.

"Let him go a minute," Jacob suggested, "We don't wanna kill him."

Suddenly Samuel could breathe again and he sucked in great lungfuls of air, despite the ache in his throat.

"Y-you…" Samuel tried to speak but his throat was too swollen. His eyes widened in shock; Ansen had used his powers against him! Something they were never supposed to do!

Ansen grinned down at him, "LeGraine said we could have some fun with you."

Samuel pressed his back against the wall, wishing he could disappear.

"Please… Ansen… Ava… don't hurt me," he begged, "Jacob… please…"

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

Bobby Singer stared incredulously at the Winchesters as they explained the situation to him.

"Hold on a damn minute," he rumbled and rubbed his beard with his hand, "Yer tellin' me that Sam has been alive these past twelve years and y'all didn't know it?!"

John nodded, "The demons were too good at hiding him."

"Yer sure it's him?" the grizzled hunter asked and the Winchester nodded in unison.

"He's not a shifter or a revenant or anything like that," Dean assured him, "He even knew Mom. I showed him a picture and he knew her."

"Christ on a cracker," Bobby grumbled, "An' you're saying you lost him again?"

John nodded while Dean confirmed it verbally.

"Is there anyway you can help us find him?" Dean asked hopefully.

"I can look for demon signs but other than that," Bobby told them, "I can't do much."

Dean nodded sadly. This is exactly what had happened the first time Sam had been kidnapped.

"The School", State Unknown-1999

The children laughed as Ansen forced Samuel to dance.

It wasn't really painful but it was embarrassing. The teen nearly tripping over his own feet at the rapid jig he was performing. Tears welled up in Samuel's eyes and he could do nothing as they overflowed and ran down his face.

That only made the other kids laugh all the more raucously.

Finally, Ansen stopped him and Samuel slumped to the cellar floor, panting, legs and feet aching.

"What else can we do? Ava asked, peering down at Samuel.

"Who wants to go next?" Ansen offered, glancing at the other children.

"Pl-please," Samuel begged, "I'm s-sorry I ran away."

They weren't listening. They were arguing about who would get the chance to torture him next.

"Let me," Jacob stepped forward, grinning and Samuel inched backwards fearfully.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

"Damn it!" Dean swore as they reached yet another dead end.

John looked up from the weather reports he was shifting through, "Its only been a few hours, Dean."

His son glared at him, "Don't you think I know that? But Sammy's out there, all alone, in the clutches of some demon-"

"Lower your voice," John cautioned and Dean scowled, glancing around at the people reading books on the other side of the library.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair.

"It's just… the longer Sammy's missing," he explained in a quieter tone, "Feels like the the less likely we are to find him again."

John set his book down and gazed sympathetically at his son. He knew how it felt; he was feeling the same way. And he was feeling guilty as hell about this too. Dean had known Samuel was Sam from almost the moment he had seen him but John had refused to see the truth. Whether he just didn't want to hope or was too busy blaming his eldest for what had happened all those years ago- something he never should have done to an eight year old- he didn't know. He guessed it didn't matter. The only thing that did was the fact that he hadn't recognized his own child.

"We'll find him, Dean," John assured him, "And bring him home."

"The School", State Unknown-1999

Samuel curled in on himself, hands pressed against his sides as he tried to alleviate the pain. His breaths were fast and shallow as every intake seemed to fill his lungs with broken glass.

"I didn't even hit him that hard," Jacob commented, looking slightly worried, "At least, I don't think I did."

"You better hope he's okay or LeGraine will have your head," Ava warned the other teen.

"Maybe we should take a break," Charlene suggested and the others nodded in agreement. They turned and walked away from Samuel without any backwards glances.

He gasped when the lights were turned off, casting him into pitch darkness, and tears squeezed out from his eyes in fear and pain.

What was going to happen to him? Would LeGraine leave him down here forever? Was he going to die?

He was trapped. He couldn't escape. Even if Samuel somehow managed to slip his chains, the windows were too small and too high. And he certainly wouldn't be able to walk out the door at the top of the stairs, he'd be caught in an instant. LeGraine and Truefold seemed to know the minute any of the children were out of line.

Slowly, the pain in Samuel's abdomen seemed to lessen, it didn't disappear entirely but it was easier to breathe again and he wiped at his tear-stained face tiredly, swiping his sweaty bangs off his brow.

He wished his powers were under control. He might be able to get away if they were, or at least defend himself from the others.

Closing his eyes, Samuel searched for that spark that seemed to appear every time he was exceptionally angry or sad or afraid.

There was nothing. Samuel sensed no powers within himself, they were buried too deep.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Samuel tried to keep from crying again. Tears wouldn't help him.

Exhaustion overtook the teen quickly and Samuel was soon plunged into a fretful sleep.

W

Samuel's eyes flew open when light suddenly seemed to slice through his closed eyelids. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he trembled fearfully when LeGraine stepped into the basement, a smirk on his face.

"A-are you going to let m-me go now?" Samuel asked quietly, "I've l-learned my lesson. I'll n-never run away again. I promise."

LeGraine crouched down in front of him.

"Part of that statement is true, Samuel," he said, "You are never going to run away again because I am never going to let you go."

The teen's mouth opened in shock and his heart began to beat fiercely in panic.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Lane still believes you can be useful," LeGraine continued, "So I can't kill you. But he had no problem with carrying on your punishment."

"And besides," he finished, the smirk never leaving his face, "The other children so enjoy their new plaything."

Tears leaked from Samuel's eyes, "P-please… please… I won't leave a-again. I-"

LeGraine hit the boy across the mouth and Samuel's begging was cut short; the teen's lip split and blood dribbled down his chin.

"You know how I feel about backtalk!"

Samuel lowered his head, struggling to keep from crying.

W

"Samuel?" The teen looked up warily when he heard his name whispered and he narrowed his eyes when he saw Brianne standing on the bottom stair.

"Are the others coming?"

The girl shook her head, "Not yet. We have to hurry."

Samuel sat up, wincing in pain, "We?"

Brianne nodded and stepped forward, "I… I thought about what you said yesterday and I really want to know my mother. I want to see her."

"Can you help me with these?" Samuel asked and Brianne nodded.

"I never told LeGraine that I could do this," she muttered as she placed a hand over the shackle on Samuel's right wrist. With a faint click, the shackle unlocked and fell away.

The boy's mouth opened in shock and he stared in awe at the girl.

Brianne smiled coyly.

Once Samuel was free, he grabbed the girl's hand tightly, "The window is too small."

Brianne nodded, "This way."

Samuel allowed the girl to tug him towards the stairs. They reached the bottom step when Brianne stopped suddenly and let go of the boy's hand.

"Hey?" Samuel asked and Brianne turned to him, a smile on her face.

"I can't believe you fell for it!" she crowed and flung a hand out towards him. Samuel was knocked off his feet and flew across the room, hitting the stone wall with a thud.

Samuel lifted his head dazedly and heard laughter floating down the staircase towards them.

"That was great, Brianne!" Ava praised, "You almost had me fooled as well."

"B-but, Brianne," Samuel stammered, tears in his eyes, "I thought-"

The girl shook her head, "LeGraine explained everything when I told him what you'd said to me."

Samuel stared down at the basement's dirt floor. Ansen and Jacob grabbed his arms and dragged him back towards the chains.

He didn't even fight. He fell bonelessly to the ground once the other boys released their hold on him.

"Aw, don't you want to play anymore?" Ansen complained, "We were just getting started."

"Maybe he needs some encouragement," Ava said, "Charlene, come here."

Samuel's eyes widened, "N-no, please… not Charlene… please."

The fire-starter looked at him sadly and brought a small flame to life on the palm of her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Metallica song.


	9. Running Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter does contain some violence but it is not overly graphic and I did not see a reason to add an archive warning.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

Dean rubbed at his burning eyes and looked back down at the newspaper article even as the words swam in his vision.

"It's two in the mornin' son," Bobby's voice startled the young man and Dean peered behind him to see the grizzled hunter wearing a pair of old grey long johns underneath a threadbare brown housecoat.

"I'm not tired," Dean immediately told the older man and returned his gaze to the paper.

He had been sifting through newspaper articles for hours, hoping for some sign of demon activity- crop failures, cattle deaths, electrical storms- that would lead them to Samuel.

Sam, Dean corrected himself, It's Sammy.

"You're not going to be any use if yer dead on yer feet," Bobby told him and Dean sighed.

"We had him, Bobby," Dean said quietly, "And I scared him away. It was my fault he ran away and got caught by those demons again."

"You didn't know," the veteran hunter tried to assuage some of Dean's guilt but the young man shook his head.

"No! I was an idiot and it's my fault my brother got kidnapped again."

Bobby took a seat across from Dean, shoving the newspaper clippings to one side.

"It wasn't your doin' the first time!"

Dean looked down at the tabletop.

"I shouldn't have left the motel room," he said as though it was some sort of mantra, "I shouldn't have left the window open. I should have stayed with Sammy."

"You were eight years old for Christ's sake, Dean!" Bobby insisted.

"But I should have known better! Dad told me not to leave, to stay inside! I knew what was out there and I-"

Bobby held up a calloused hand.

"You get yourself upstairs and into bed," he told the younger man, "Yer stressed out and tired. We can start fresh tomorrow morning."

Dean wanted to protest but the grizzled hunter just shook his head, standing up from the table.

Following Bobby's lead, Dean stood and trudged up the creaky wooden staircase, his thoughts on Sam and walked into the guest bedroom. John was already sleeping in one of the beds, snoring loudly. Dean lay down on the empty bed without taking his clothes off and closed his eyes, dreaming about lost baby brothers and black eyes.

"The School", State Unknown-1999

Samuel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to also shut out the pain.

He pressed his back against the rough stone wall, curling in on himself protectively.

Despite his best efforts to stop himself, Samuel began to sob; the agony and despair were too much for him.

The other children would continue to torture him for as long as LeGraine saw fit.

There was no escaping his fate.

W

The teen looked up wearily through swollen, bloodshot eyes at the sound of footsteps coming down the wooden stairs.

It was Lucas. He was a short, chubby boy with wide blue eyes and curly light brown hair. Although he was never outright malicious, he would follow along with the others whenever they made fun of Samuel's faulty powers.

Now, the shorter boy had a plate in his hand and he sat it down on the ground in front of Samuel. It had a slice of plain, white bread on it.

"LeGraine said you should eat something," he said and took a step back.

Samuel didn't move.

"M'not hungry."

The other boy didn't respond, he simply turned on his heel and nearly ran up the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

Samuel sighed and closed his eyes again. He shivered, cold, his back against the stone wall and his cheek resting on the dirt floor.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

Dean gasped awake, his head searing with pain and stumbled from his bed.

"Dad!" he called and John sat up instantly.

"What's wrong?"

Dean reached out and flicked on the lamp that sat on the nightstand between the beds. He sat down on the edge of his mattress and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I… I… had a nightmare," he muttered, saying it out loud made him feel stupid.

John raised an eyebrow, "A nightmare?"

Dean nodded and let out a breath, "I saw… something."

"What? Dean, can't this wait until the morning?" John asked tiredly.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean admitted, "Sorry I woke you."

John grunted and lay down again, his back facing his eldest son.

Dean remained sitting. He rubbed at the spot between his eyes, trying to recall what he had seen but the image was quickly slipping away. Shrugging, Dean decided that he had just been having a bad dream and turned out the light.

W

The next morning, as Dean drank his coffee and searched the Internet on Bobby's old, grey computer, he was certain that he had had a nightmare and nothing more.

There seemed to be no strange occurances or demonic omens around Maine- the state where the Winchesters had last been with Samuel- so Dean decided to branch out.

There's gotta be something, he thought almost desperately, knowing it wasn't necessarily true.

The first time Sam had been abducted, there had been no signs, no trail to follow either.

"This isn't getting us anywhere, Bobby," Dean lamented, "There has to be something else."

The grizzled hunter looked up from the stack of newspapers he and John were sorting through.

"I ain't a miracle worker, son," he said gruffly, "I wish I was but I can only do so much. I can't find a beastie if there's no trail left to follow."

Dean nodded. Again, a wave of guilt washed over him.

I should have been looking out for Sammy.

Dean turned back to the computer screen, staring despondently, hopelessly at the news article he was reading that turned out to be yet another dead end.

"The School," State Unknown-1999

Samuel covered his face with his hands, his left eye already beginning to swell shut and staggered back against the wall.

"Not going to fight back?" Ansen taunted as Jacob advanced on Samuel again.

The teen shook his head, raising his hands to fend off the next blow.

The others just laughed at his pathetic attempts at self-defense.

"Why don't you use your powers, hm? Ansen sneered, eyes glinting cruelly.

Samuel grunted when Jacob shoved him into the wall, forearm across his throat. Jacob punched Samuel again, splitting his lip. Tears rolled down Samuel's face as he gasped for air, trying to pry the other boy's arm away from his neck.

Jacob dropped Samuel and he landed on his hands and knees.

"P-please stop," Samuel choked, wiping blood away from his chin, "I n-never did anything to you."

The last thing Samuel saw before passing out was Jacob's foot flying towards his face.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

"Son of a-" Dean exclaimed, raising his hands to his head and knocking his chair over as he stood, "Gah!"

"Dean! What's wrong?" John grabbed his son's shoulder and squeezed.

Dean could barely open his eyes; the pain was so bad. He leaned over and threw up.

John steered his son to the couch and had Dean sit down. Bobby hovered just behind the younger man, concern etched on his features.

"Dean? Can you hear me?" John asked and Dean nodded, his face pale and sweaty.

"What was that?" Bobby wondered out loud. Dean swallowed thickly and blinked as though the light in the living room hurt his eyes.

"I… I saw…" he shook his head and rubbed at the spot between his eyes, "A cellar… I think… It looked like it."

John's eyebrows furrowed, "A cellar?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, it looked really old… stone walls… dirt floor, the whole shebang."

John and Bobby shared a looked. Stress. Dean was cracking. This was too much for him.

"Maybe you should lie down for a bit, son," Bobby suggested but Dean stood suddenly and began pacing.

"Dean?" John called his son's name but the young man ignored him.

"I don't think I was alone," Dean muttered, speaking mostly to himself, "It felt like there were other people there. Standing over me. Damn it! Why can't I remember?"

"What are you talking about? What's going on?" John asked, confused and worried for his son.

Dean rounded on him, frustration clear on his face, "I told you! I saw some sort of a basement and there were other people there! I don't remember what their faces looked like but I… I felt like I knew them somehow."

John looked to Bobby for an explanation. Calmly, Bobby clear his throat, "Has Dean ever experienced visions before?"

"Visions? What? No, of course not! Why?" the father growled.

Dean had stopped pacing and was staring at Bobby.

"What do you mean? Like ESPN or something?"

The grizzled hunter sighed, "It's probably just stress, son. You should take a break."

"I am not stressed!" Dean snapped; both John and Bobby looked unconvinced.

"Forget it," he muttered, "I'm going for a drive, I'll see you later."

"Dean, wait-" John called but his son was already out the door, the Impala's engine revving loudly.

"The School," State Unkown-1999

Samuel glanced up listlessly, not even caring that LeGraine was staring down at him.

"You had so much potential," the man commented, "What a waste."

The boy closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

Dean was glad he had stopped at a local bar for a drink when his head suddenly felt as though it had split open.

He dropped his glass- it smashed on the floor- and grabbed his head, crying out in pain.

"The hell's wrong with you?" the male bartender shouted and Dean staggered away from the counter.

"Hey! You gotta pay for that!"

Dean was already out the door, leaning against the Impala, nearly panting.

He had seen it again- that cellar- and once again he had not been alone. He had had a clear view of the other presence in the room this time. It had been a man, standing over him, a sneer on his face.

Dean blinked. The man seemed so familiar but Dean was sure he had never met him in his life.

Covering his eyes with one hand, Dean concentrated, trying to recall where he could have seen the stranger before.

W

Dean ran into Bobby's house, nearly panicking.

"Dad! DAD! BOBBY!" he cried, his heart pounding as he searched the empty living room.

"Dean, what's gotten into you?" the grizzled hunter stepped out from the kitchen, "Jesus, you look like you've just seen a ghost. What's the matter?"

"I… I think I might know who has Sam…"

Bobby stared dumbfounded at the younger man.

"Where's Dad?"

"Went out looking for you. I'll rein him in."

Dean followed Bobby into the kitchen and sat down at the table, fingers tapping nervously.

After the veteran hunter had finished calling John, he turned to the younger man, "Wanna explain?"

"I had another… another-"

"Vision?" Bobby offered, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah, vision," Dean agreed, "And I saw this guy. I knew I had seen him somewhere before but I didn't know exactly where until I started driving back."

Bobby waited patiently for Dean to continue. The young man explained how, after Samuel had told them he recognized Mary Winchester as the woman from his dreams, they had driven back to the motel room.

"There was some idiot standing in the middle of the road," Dean said, "I thought he was just some drunk or something. I didn't pay much attention to him… I guess I should have. He's the guy I saw in that cellar in my vision Bobby; I think he's the one who has Sam."

"That's one hell of a neat trick," the grizzled hunter said, "Sure nothing like this has never happened before?"

Dean shook his head, "I rarely even get headaches."

Bobby scratched his beard thoughtfully for a moment.

"How could I see that cellar though? I'm certain I've never been there, so why do I feel as though I have?" Dean asked.

"It might not be you after all," the older hunter told him and Dean was about to ask what he was talking about when John stepped inside.

"Dean, what's going on?"

The son reiterated everything he had told Bobby and as he spoke he could see his father's look of disbelief grow.

"Bobby? Dean can't be some kind of… of psychic, could he?" John asked, glancing somewhat warily at his son.

The older hunter shook his head, "Nah, psychic abilities show up in children when they're but tots."

The father looked relieved. Although the hunting community did not consider psychics 'evil', the last thing the Winchesters needed was another complication in their lives.

"What's happening then?" John asked, curiously.

"I think it might be Samuel," Bobby told them, "What he's seeing."

Dean's mouth dropped open. His baby brother was being held prisoner in some dank cellar, perhaps even being hurt at that very moment.

"The boy's the psychic? Why didn't he say anything to us?" John asked.

Bobby rolled his eyes, "He didn't know you two. I don't know too many true psychics who flaunt their ability around like some damn neon sign."

"Is there anyway we can figure out where Sam is from the visions?" Dean asked hopefully.

Bobby sighed, "Unless you see something particularly unique about where he's being held, the chances of finding Sam are still slim to none."

Dean deflated. He was a failure; Sam was calling out for help and he couldn't save him. Again.

John though, still seemed to be stuck on the idea that his youngest son was psychic.

"What would demons want with a psychic?"

Bobby shrugged, "You can ask once we find Sam."

If, Dean corrected silently, if we find him.

"The School," State Unknown-1999

Samuel opened his eyes slowly- the swollen one barely wanting to cooperate- and pulled himself up on his elbows. Blood had leaked down his chin from his split lip and dried there, flaking off when he rubbed at it.

The side of his head ached terribly and when Samuel lifted his hand to his temple, his fingers came away sticky with blood.

The teen closed his eyes as nausea bubbled up in his stomach and he leaned forward, vomiting up bile. Groaning miserably, Samuel wiped his hand across his mouth, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste.

Sighing sadly, the teen settled down again, trying as best he could to find a comfortable position on the hard earthen ground and stared blankly at the stone wall across from him until his eyes slipped closed again.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

Dean stumbled against the counter, his head searing with pain as the vision blossomed in his mind's eye.

"Dean!" he heard his father's voice cry out at the same time as Bobby called, "Son! Y'all right?"

Dean curled inwards, hands grabbing at his short-cropped hair, almost pulling it out.

He gasped and sank to his knees, exhausted and shaken. Panting for breath, Dean squinted up at the two concerned faces peering at him.

"Are you alright, Dean?" John asked worriedly, he gripped one of Dean's arms and heaved him onto his feet, "What… what did you see?"

Sighing audibly, Dean shook his head, "Nothing that will help us find Sammy."

"What did you see?" Bobby spoke up.

Dean moved across the kitchen and sat down at the table, propping his head up with his hand on his brow.

"Just a… wall… a blank stone wall," he replied tiredly.

Bobby rubbed his bearded chin for a moment, thinking. John glanced at his friend, a confused look on his face.

"What kind of stone?" the veteran hunter asked.

"I don't know, Bobby," Dean muttered.

"Well, bricks or natural stone," Bobby elaborated, "Like sommat that would come from the ground."

"Natural?" Dean said, unsure.

"What colour?"

"Where's this going Bobby?" John asked.

"Hold on a minute," the older hunter grumbled, "What colour, Dean?"

"Uh…" the young man squeezed his eyes shut, one hand fisted against his forehead to help him concentrate.

"C'mon boy!" Bobby urged.

"Grey!" Dean almost snapped, "They were big… watermelon-sized, and kind of grey… or maybe black."

"Hmm," Bobby squinted his eyes, "That's good."

Both Winchesters looked expectantly at him but the veteran hunter did not reply, instead he walked into the living room and sat down at his computer, typing furiously.

Dean and John followed the other man, peering over his shoulder at the screen.

"Wanna tell us what this is about?" John asked.

Bobby sighed, "Look, there are some types of stones that are more common to certain States. I'm thinking that with a description of the stones the basement is made up of, we can figure out a rough area of where the boy may be."

Dean's eyes lit up, "That's great! Where is he, Bobby? You gotta know!"

"I'm not sayin' its exact, son, but it's worth a shot trying," the grizzled hunter explained and turned his attention back to the computer screen.

Dean glanced at his father from the corner of his eye when he felt John's hand rest on his shoulder.

W

"Pennsylvania!" Bobby announced, startling the Winchesters who had wandered into the kitchen for coffee.

"We were so close!" Dean exclaimed, frustrated.

"Do you know where, exactly?" John asked and Bobby nodded.

"Eastern part of the State," the grizzled hunter replied.

"That narrows it down," John grumbled but Dean didn't look discouraged.

"C'mon, let's go!" he urged, "We have to go!"

"Hold on, son," Bobby held up a hand, "Calm down. That's a lot of area to cover."

Dean's hazel eyes swam with unshed tears, "Please, we have to find him; we have to find Sammy."

Bobby nodded, "I'll call around, see if there's been any demon signs in eastern Pennsylvania recently."

Hold on, Sammy, Dean thought, we're coming for you.

"The School," Pennsylvania-1999

Samuel struggled weakly as LeGraine dragged him up the wooden staircase, his hand gripping the collar of the boy's shirt. The man deposited the teen at the top of the staircase and moved further into the kitchen, an irritated expression on his face.

Samuel stared at the wooden floorboards, wondering what was going to happen to him now, when LeGraine yanked him up once again, onto his feet this time and shoved him towards the table.

Confused, the young man sat in the chair the man pushed him into. He looked up at LeGraine as the man set a plate in front of him.

"Eat," LeGraine demanded.

Samuel glanced down and saw a slice of plain white bread on the plate.

"Why?" he asked, looking the man straight in the eye, "So the others can keep torturing me?"

"Your punishment is not over," LeGraine told him calmly, "We wouldn't want you to lose you too soon."

Samuel didn't move. He jumped when LeGraine slammed his fist down on the table, "EAT!"

"I'm not hungry."

Both the boy and the man startled when the front door slammed open and footsteps ran down the hallway towards them. LeGraine stood up; anger etched on his features, and headed towards the doorway only to stagger and fall back, a gunshot wound in his chest.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota (20 hours earlier)-1999

"There's a small town called Emmaus that looks promising," Bobby told the anxious Winchesters.

"It's mostly farmland out there and they've had the highest rate of unusual livestock births for the past dozen or so years," the grizzled hunter continued.

"Unusual? Stillbirths?" John asked and Bobby nodded, "Calves and lambs were also born with two heads and the such."

"Let's go! Sam's gotta be there!" Dean tugged on his father's arm and John stood up, looking at his old friend.

"You coming?"

Bobby shook his head, "I'll stay here in case anyone else needs me. Just, promise me you'll bring Sam here when you get 'im."

John nodded as Dean dragged him out the door to the Impala.

"Let me just grab some things from the truck, Dean," John told his son as Dean climbed into the classic Chevy's driver's seat and tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.

As soon as he father climbed into the passenger seat, before John had even buckled his seatbelt or closed the door, Dean was pulling down the driveway, intent on one thing: rescuing his brother.

Emmaus, Pennsylvania (20 hours later)-1999

"Here! Here! Hey, stop the car!" Dean exclaimed and the eldest Winchester reluctantly let up on the gas.

John looked tiredly through the windshield at the dilapidated farmhouse they were parked in front of. It didn't look like anyone had lived there for years.

"You sure this is it?" he asked his son and Dean nodded.

"Yeah," the younger man assured him, "My Spidey-Sense is tingling."

In a more serious tone, Dean continued, "See that house? The stones look really familiar. Like the ones in my vision."

"Okay," John said, almost sighing and nodded, "Let's just park out of sight a bit."

Dean eased the Impala down the road a bit so that they couldn't see the farmhouse or barn from their position. Turning off the car, he made his way to the trunk and unlocked it. Father and son grabbed the necessary weapons- salt, holy water, spray paint for Devil's Traps, and, of course, guns- before walking up the dusty, dirt drive.

It was late evening and the sun was almost completely set, the sky a dark plum colour to the east and an orange-pink to the west.

Both Winchesters paused when they came to the farmhouse. Dean wondered if one of them should check out the barn. He was beginning to think that maybe it was a dead-end when he heard a shout come from inside the house.

At a slight nod from his father, Dean pulled his gun from his jacket pocket, slipped the safety off and shoved open the front door.

Dean couldn't have told anyone a single detail of the interior of the house as he ran down the hallway, his boots thumping loudly against the hardwood floor, so focused was he on getting to his brother.

Both Dean and John followed the sound of the voice and found a small, tidy kitchen, and a man rushing towards them with pitch black eyes.

John squeezed off a shot- the discharge quieted by a silencer- and the man fell backwards. Before anyone could move, thick black smoke pushed itself from the man's mouth and flew, spiraling up to the ceiling to disappear in a crackle of lightning.

The teenage boy sitting at the table was staring down at the fallen man in shock, his face as pale as milk.

"Sammy!" Dean cried and stepped over the dead man, hurrying to his brother's side.

"D-Dean?" Samuel asked and the older boy nodded.

"Everything's going to be alright," Dean assured him, "Jesus Christ, what did that bastard do to you?"

"Dean! We should get out of here," John's voice reminded Dean that they might not yet be safe.

"Sammy? Samuel. Is there anyone else here?" Dean asked and carefully took hold of his brother's elbow, steering him away from the chair.

Samuel nodded and reached up to brush his bangs away from his eyes.

"Th-the others," he muttered, "And… Truefold. S-she'll be here too."

Deciding that it was best to deal with Samuel first and the rest of the demons later, John helped Dean lead him down the hallway.

"I- I didn't s-say anything… about you," Samuel whispered and John nodded.

"You did good, son."

The eldest Winchester paused, catching his oldest boy looking at him from the corner of his eye but said nothing.

W

Although tense and anticipating a confrontation, the Winchesters met no one during their flight down the driveway. Dean wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not but decided it best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He helped Samuel into the backseat of the Impala, trying to make him as comfortable as possible and climbed into the driver's seat while John took the passenger's.

"Let's get the hell out of here," John announced and Dean nodded, flooring the gas pedal and speeding down the street and as far away from the old farmhouse as quickly as possible.

W

Ansen gritted his teeth as his eyes tracked the two men leading Samuel away from the School. He moved forwards, about to slip between the barn's double doors when he felt Truefold's hand on his shoulder.

"Leave him," she instructed, her lips a thin line.

"But he's getting away!" Jacob argued, taking Ansen's side.

The woman glared at the two teens, "He will return to us soon enough, we just have to be patient."

"Where's LeGraine?" Brianne asked anxiously, "Is he okay?"

Truefold nodded, "He will be alright, and he will be back, though he may not look as he once did."

The special children all turned curious expressions on the woman but she said no more.

"We can't stay here anymore, can we?" Ava asked and Truefold shook her head.

Ansen turned back to watch the Winchesters, his hands clenching into fists.

Samuel was going to pay; that was it. He had betrayed them for the last time. The next time he showed his face, he was dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Iron Maiden song.


	10. Home

Dean couldn't seem to drive to Sioux Falls fast enough. All he wanted was to get Samuel somewhere safe.

The boy in question was asleep on the backseat of the Impala, exhaustion taking over his battered body.

John couldn't help but glance at the unconscious teen every few minutes, hardly able to believe that it was really Sammy. His little boy and he hadn't known it. John closed his eyes and made a silent promise to make up for all the years without his youngest child.

W

"How is he? Dad? Is he okay?"

John resisted the urge to snap at his eldest son as he looked over his youngest, his body squeezed uncomfortably between the two front seats of the Impala as he checked on Samuel.

"He's still asleep," John told Dean, "Which is good right now. He looks exhausted."

Turning around to face the road, the eldest Winchester sighed, "How much longer to Bobby's?"

Dean checked the clock on the Chevy's dash, "Four hours."

John nodded and sighed.

Four hours. That was four hours too long for him. He just wished there was a way to get to the Salvage Yard faster.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota-1999

Samuel opened his eyes slowly. He didn't want to wake up.

He shifted slightly to one side and instead of feeling cold, hard ground beneath him; he felt something warm and soft.

"Huh?" He murmured and reached his fingers curiously and brushed his hand against soft, smooth fabric.

"Sammy? Samuel?" a familiar voice called his name quietly and at first the teen cringed away, afraid that the voice belonged to one of the other children but he realized the voice was kind and gentle, not mocking.

"You with us, kiddo?"

Samuel peeled his eyes open and drowsily stared at the face hovering over him.

Dean broke into a grin and patted Samuel's chest.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"S-sore," Samuel answered quietly.

Dean nodded, "Dad and I patched you up while you were out cold. You'll be okay; the worst were the burns."

The older boy's expression turned somber, "What happened to you?"

Samuel sat up and glanced around. He was in a bedroom that featured two beds, the second unmade. There was a chest of drawers on one side of the room and a full-length mirror against the other wall but it was covered in dust, clearly not in use.

"Wh-where are we?" Samuel asked hesitantly.

"A friend's house," Dean told him, "Don't worry, Sammy- uh, Samuel- you're safe."

The teen took in his surroundings once again, his gaze finally dropping to the soft blankets covering him, "You can call me Sammy, if you want."

Dean smiled again and carefully squeezed his brother's shoulder.

"Do you want to sleep some more? Are you hungry? I could make you some soup or something?"

Samuel's stomach growled at the mention of food and he nodded cautiously, "I'm a little hungry."

Dean grinned, "Great! I'll be back in a few minutes. Wait here, okay?"

Samuel didn't reply. He didn't feel like getting up and moving around. He'd just as soon stay in the bed all day.

He listened disinterestedly to the sound of Dean's footsteps as they receded down the hallway. Pulling himself into a sitting position and twisting at the waist, Samuel stared out the window behind the bed's headboard, frowning at the sight of rusted, dilapidated cars that filled the front yard of the house.

Footsteps startled the teen and he slithered down onto his back, pulling the blankets over his head.

"Maybe he's asleep," a gruff, warm voice whispered from the direction of the doorway.

"Dean said he was wide awake just a minute ago," John's familiar voice spoke up.

Samuel pulled the blankets down to just below his eyes and regarded the two men.

John smiled at him, "Hey there, Samuel."

The man standing with John greeting him in similar fashion. He was shorter than John, and broader-shouldered with a reddish beard and small grey eyes. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, a brown-and-black-checkered flannel shirt and a dingy baseball cap.

"Hello there, son," the stranger said, "I'm Bobby."

Samuel said nothing. He simply stared at the two men until Dean's footsteps announced his arrival and John and Bobby stepped into the room to make way for him.

Dean had a bowl of soup balanced on a tray with a glass of a liquid that was fizzy and golden-coloured. The older boy set the tray on Samuel's lap and sat back.

The teen eyed the drink suspiciously.

"What is that?"

Dean frowned before speaking, "Oh, that Ginger Ale. It's good for upset stomachs."

"But I feel fine," Samuel replied, eyes narrowed at the older boy.

"You're very thin," Bobby spoke up, "So I'm guessin' you haven't eaten in a while, am I right?"

Samuel nodded and picked up the spoon, fiddling with it.

"Than you'll be glad to have some of that drink in yer belly," the grizzled man told him.

Samuel dipped the spoon into the bowl of soup and began eating slowly.

W

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked out loud when Samuel told the gathered hunters about the School; Dean's question pertaining to LeGraine and Truefold's mantra that the children were training so that they may fight 'for the greater good'.

"Well, as you said," Bobby offered, "At least one of 'em is a demon so 'the greater good' is likely something good for their kind."

John frowned and Samuel couldn't stop his heart from beating faster.

"But what? Samuel, did they ever say anything else to you? Think hard, try to remember."

The teen bit his lip. LeGraine and Truefold only ever told them about the 'greater good' and that was it. There wasn't anything else.

"I don't know; I'm sorry. Whatever it is, Mr. Lane was interested too," Samuel told them.

"Who's that, son?" Bobby asked.

"He always talked to LeGraine and Truefold though," Samuel continued, "I think he was really important. He had them kill Andrew… and some of the others too, I think."

Dean touched Samuel's arm comfortingly and the young man sniffed sadly, lowering his head.

"We should keep tabs on that farmhouse, John," Bobby suggested and the younger hunter nodded, "Something strange was definitely going on there."

A thought suddenly came to Samuel and he looked up, "How did you find me?"

Dean grimaced, "You showed me exactly where you were, Sammy."

"But-" Samuel began but Dean interrupted him.

"Why didn't you tell us you were psychic?"

Samuel frowned. Psychic? Did that mean his powers? It must. Was that was they were called?

"I- My powers don't work," Samuel admitted, "Not when I want them to anyway. Not like the others'."

"Well, whether you can control them or not, they helped Dean figure out where you were," John told him.

Samuel held his breath, waiting for the Winchesters to start yelling at him, or maybe even hurt him because of his powers.

Nothing happened though; Dean smiled, "Maybe they can come in handy while we're hunting. Maybe you'll be able to see every beasties' next move."

John smiled tightly but nodded.

SPN

"Why can't he come?" Dean asked, irritated at his father's decision.

"It's too dangerous, Dean," John insisted, "Samuel- Sam- hasn't been trained to hunt. We only just got him back and I am not losing him to some supernatural son of a bitch yet."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest but nodded, seeing his father's point.

"But where is he going to stay?"

"Here o'course," Bobby spoke up, standing in the doorway to the kitchen where the Winchesters were sitting.

John looked surprised at the pronouncement but Dean smiled.

"Don't worry, Johnny," he assured his friend, "This place is as safe as Fort Knox, you know that. Besides, I can teach the boy how to protect himself from monsters while giving him a traditional education since he can't really go to high school now."

The other hunter nodded, "Alright, if that's what you want."

Bobby rolled his eyes and turned to Dean, "Well? What do you think?"

"I think you better start making up for all the years Sam missed out on, Uncle Bobby."

Cold Oak, South Dakota-1999

Truefold smiled as she took in the sight of the abandoned town. It was perfect. No hunter would trouble them here.

The children stood clustered around her matronly form, peering somewhat less positively at the dilapidated buildings and overgrown streets around them.

The sound of approaching footsteps and the children tensed, on edge.

"Be still," Truefold told them, "It is only LeGraine."

The female demon as her partner stepped forwards, his new host body that of an elderly man.

The children backed up, confused.

"Do not be afraid of me," LeGraine calmed them.

"What happened to you?" Ava asked boldly.

The demon glanced down at the beige tweed suit he was wearing, "I was forced to relocate."

It was clear that the answer did nothing to clarify but the demon did not continue.

Truefold reached out and fiddled with LeGraine's lapels in a motherly fashion, "I liked your old body better."

The male demon shrugged, "If the Winchesters had not arrived, I would still have it."

Truefold nodded, "Are you going to go after them?"

"No," LeGraine reached up and pulled the other demon's hands away, "I spoke to Azazel and he told us to wait until the children are ready to fulfill their destiny. Then, we may take Samuel back."

Truefold smiled. It would still be a few years yet before the children were ready to fight, before their champion would reveal him or herself but the demon knew she could wait a little longer. They had already waited sixteen years, what was a handful more?

The demons turned as one to look at the remaining children, "We had better continue with their education, don't you think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Philip Philips song.

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title comes from an Iron Maiden song.  
> Chapter title comes from a Screaming Trees song.


End file.
